5

Where Ben, Charlie, and I make a plan that, in hindsight, could have done with a teensy bit more thought

I was woken up by the sound of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Dad had bought one of those musical doorbells, and it had got stuck on that tune. He still hasn’t fixed it because he says Christmas will be here before we know it. I think time must go quicker for adults.

Dad hollered up at me, “Get that, would you, Fred?”

I rammed my feet into my slippers and headed downstairs. Dad craned his neck to look at me through the living-room door. “Hey, bedhead, thought I’d let you lie in. Reckon you needed your sleep.” He held out a package of chocolate cookies. I shook my head—what would Grams say if I started my day with a cookie?

“You seen this?” Dad nodded toward the TV. “This absolute joker stole some priceless rings right from under Fiona Bruce’s nose.”

“Who?” On the screen was a woman with excellent teeth looking very dismayed.

“From the Antiques Roadshow—Fiona Bruce. Some thief in a ski cap swiped these rings live on the air off this poor old dear. Disappeared without a trace.”

To be honest, I wasn’t giving Dad my full attention. Antiques weren’t really my thing. “I’m going to answer the door.”

Ben and Charlie were on the doorstep with their arms over each other’s shoulders, swaying from side to side.

“And a happy New Year!” They finished the song and took a bow. Ben took his baseball cap off and held it out for money.

I felt a little emotional when I saw them. I didn’t want to cry so I said, “Did you know Joseph Henry invented the doorbell in 1831?” and the tears stopped prickling the back of my eyeballs.

Charlie at least looked impressed. “I did not know that.”

Ben was not distracted by the doorbell fact. He did this concerned frown and said, “You alright, Fred?”

“Course he’s not alright, he’s in the middle of a personal crisis.” Charlie pushed past me and marched into the living room. Dad was still watching the news. There was a picture of two gold rings shaped like swans on the screen and the word REWARD. Dad muted the TV. “Morning, boys.”

Charlie cleared his throat. “Mom says I’m to say sorry, Mr. Yates. About your . . .” He paused. “What was Freddie’s Grams to you? She was Freddie’s mom’s mom, right? So that makes her your dead girlfriend’s mom?”

Dad blinked twice at Charlie then looked at me. I shrugged—what could I say?

Charlie tried again. “Mr. Yates. I am very sorry to hear that your dead girlfriend’s mom is also dead too.” He looked at the chocolate cookie that Dad was holding below his open mouth. “You going to eat that?”

Dad handed the cookie over and said, very slowly, “Thank you for your heartfelt condolences, Charlie.”

“You are very welcome, Mr. Yates.”

“How’s your leg, Mr. Yates?” Ben asked.

“Getting better, thanks. Few more weeks in the cast though.”

“Mom says you’d have to be pretty special to run yourself over with your own car.” Charlie’s lips spread into a huge grin until Ben nudged him in the ribs.

“What?” Charlie glared at Ben. “I was paying him a compliment.”

Dad sighed. “How’s your mom, Ben? She okay after everything?”

“She’s living in Spain. Wants to be as far away from Dad and Becky as possible. She doesn’t understand why Dad waited until she left him to get rich. Thinks he did it to spite her.”

“Right.” Dad ran his hands through his hair and it stuck up like a mad professor’s. “Can you win five hundred grand on a scratch card out of spite?”

“Mom seems to think so.”

“Shall we go up to my room?” I wanted to get on with making our plan—not stand around all day talking to Dad.

Charlie sat on my desk chair and put his big feet on my bed. “So you’ve got two dads?”

“Yup—my proper dad and my biological dad who lives in Wales.”

“Where even is Wales? Is it one of them islands between here and France?”

Mrs. Walker had been right about Charlie needing to pay more attention in class.

Ben set him straight. “No, you muppet. It’s that bit stuck to us that looks like a pig’s head.”

“There? How are we going to get there?”

“On the train.” I brought up the train schedule on my computer. “But it isn’t cheap. How much money have you guys got?”

Charlie turned out the pockets of his cargo pants. “I’ve got four pounds and sixteen pence.”

“That’s not enough.”

I had my life savings stored in my Kermit money jar. I pulled out the stopper and a shower of silver and brown coins fell onto the carpet. It looked like loads.

I noticed Ben was smirking. I scowled at him. “What?”

“Dude, you’ve been saving your money in a Kermit money jar.”

“So?”

“Kermit? And now you find out your biological dad’s name is Froggley. It’s a little funny, that’s all.”

I didn’t think it was funny—and even though I didn’t believe in them at the time, I thought it was a sign. A sign, mind you, not a miracle.

It started to feel like less of a sign when I counted out the coins and they totaled £8.53. “That makes twelve pounds something. That’s not going to get us to Wales.”

I didn’t want to appear presumptuous, but I looked straight at Ben. I may have been banking on his monetary input all along, but I was trying to be subtle about it. I was hoping to lead him to make the offer of financial aid himself.

Charlie, on the other hand, was not subtle about it. He prodded Ben with his foot and said, “Come on, moneybags, hand over the cash.”

Ben looked uncomfortable. Ever since his dad got rich, he has this thing about people using him for his money. He does get more allowance than me and Charlie combined though.

“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” I said, but I didn’t mean it. I was doing what they call a double bluff. Or maybe it’s a single bluff. I’m not sure.

“Go on, Ben, cough up. His Grams died, and I’ve always wanted to go to Wales.”

“You didn’t know where Wales was two minutes ago.”

There was this awkward moment when nobody spoke, and I thought Ben might not pay up, but then he said, “Fine. Sorry—yes. Course I’ll put in some money.”

“I’ll pay you back, I promise.” Note that I did not commit myself to a timeline.

After we sorted out the money, we discussed our cover story. I suggested we could say we’d won a prize trip, but that got too complicated. Charlie thought we could leave a ransom note and pretend we’d all been kidnapped, but we thought our parents might get too overexcited about that. In the end we opted for Ben’s idea: I’d say I was staying at Ben’s. Ben would say he was staying at Charlie’s, and Charlie would say he was staying at mine. Ben said it was genius in its simplicity.

As it turned out, our parents were quite relaxed about it all to begin with. I thought Dad would see straight through me because I have a very honest face. But when I said, “Dad, I’m going to sleep over at Ben’s. I’ll be back Sunday,” he said:

“Where’s the remote?”

Now, after everything that happened, he makes me leave him a full itinerary of what I’m up to whenever I go out. He even looked into getting me electronically chipped like Lady Gaga—the dog, not the singer (I’ve no idea if she’s tagged).

Ben, Charlie, and I agreed to meet at the bus stop at eight the following morning. We decided to pack light—a spare pair of underwear and a few snacks to keep us going. At that point I guess I assumed that my new dad, Alan, would put us up, and we’d only be away for a night. When people ask me if I would do anything differently in my journey if I were to do it all again, I tell them I would take more underpants. More clothes in general really.