I’M SORRY I HAVEN’T WRITTEN for so long.
How stupid does that sound? Like I’ve been writing you a letter every day.
I just mean that I didn’t have anything to say for a while, you know. Everything just dried up. Maybe it was all that crying I did when I thought I’d killed Danny. Maybe I just wanted to stop thinking for a bit. Have a brain-vacation.
I had to go and have all these meetings with Mr McGregor about resitting my exams next year because I missed the last five weeks of school. To be honest, I don’t think he’s all that thrilled about the idea of having to spend several hours alone with me in a classroom.
I just thought of something. All this stuff I’ve written – maybe you know all this already? I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it’s like that book The Lovely Bones, and you’re watching us from your own private heaven. I wonder what’s in your heaven. Grandma Abbie? Sancho Panza? Do dogs go to heaven? I hope so, but I don’t know much about it. Dad never takes us to church anymore. You’re probably not too pleased about that, but I guess after you were gone he didn’t see the point.
To be honest, Dad kind of lost the plot there for a while. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticising him. Maybe I was angry at him for a long time – deep down, perhaps I did blame him for a whole lot of stuff – but not anymore. Not now. I can see that it’s been hard for him, too. And lonely. I don’t think Nina or I were very good company, you know. I was always too busy bossing him around, making sure he was on time for work, and Nina just became even more of a ballerina bun-head than she was before.
No wonder Dad loved being around Danny so much. Danny looked at Dad and saw a really talented musician who’d done all these great things – not just a guy who wasn’t coping very well after his wife had died.
Yes, I was angry with Danny too. And maybe just a little bit jealous. Okay, a lot jealous. But you can see why, can’t you? It was bad enough losing you, but no one said anything about losing Dad as well. Especially when he’s still here walking around in front of us. Except he’s not. Not really. He’s just going through the motions. Moonwalking through life. Until Danny came along, that is, and suddenly Dad’s playing and writing and sprinting ahead again. Just not with me and Nina.
Do you know what Jane said to me last week? She said that this might be one of the reasons I burnt all your stuff – because I was angry at Dad and trying to punish him. But she said something else. She said that maybe I was trying to give us all – Dad, Nina and me – permission to move on. You know, clear away all the old stuff so we can get on with the new. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? And maybe she’s got a point. But what do I know? I don’t seem to have much idea of what’s going on in my head at all – not according to Jane, anyway. I mean, you would think that after everything that had happened I’d be able to figure out a few things. Have some idea of what people were thinking. Well, you’d be wrong.
Take last Saturday morning. Dad was in a weird mood; he was pretending to be all jolly and happy, but I could tell he was faking it. He even made breakfast – scrambled eggs on English muffins – which he so never does. Usually it’s just toast and Weet-Bix. Nina was humming some ballet music to herself – totally oblivious to anything else as usual. I was starting to get a bit freaked out by Dad’s manic Father of the Year act when there was a knock at the door. And – here’s a good indication of how loopy I am – I thought it was the police coming to tell me I’d killed someone else. I was seriously halfway down the back garden before Dad caught up with me. He had a woman with him – Mrs Delfazio from the newsagent – and right away I had a bad feeling about what was coming.
We all went back inside. Dad made Nina and me sit down across from Mrs Delfazio. I’m not sure what happened next. Something sort of exploded inside me – a bit like Dad’s car, but with less collateral damage.
‘No! Dad!’ I yelled. ‘You can’t do this.’ I turned to Nina, hoping she’d back me up. ‘Tell him, Nina.’
Nina looked at me blankly as if she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I started to cry – again – and Dad practically leapt across the table and threw his arms around me.
‘Luie. It’s okay. It’s not a criticism of you. I’m just trying to help you out. Help us all out.’ He squeezed me tighter. ‘I’ve let you look after things for too long and I’ve realised …’ He sounded strange, all choked up, as he whispered the words to the back of my head. ‘I’ve realised that I haven’t been very fair to you. I’m so sorry.’
I pushed him away. ‘Dad,’ I pleaded, ‘you can’t do this. Please.’
‘Lu, it’s okay. It’s only going to be for three days a week.’
‘What? What difference does that make?’ None of this was making sense to me. Now Dad was trying to say it was okay, because it was only part-time.
I swung around to Mrs Delfazio and hissed at her, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. What’s your husband going to say when he finds out?’
Mrs Delfazio didn’t seem to think her husband would mind. In fact, she said she’d already discussed it with him and he thought it was a great idea.
Have you ever had one of those dreams where suddenly everything becomes totally surreal? Where you look around and everyone has shiny blue tusks and three eyes? In the dream, though, having blue walrus teeth is actually normal and all the walrus-people are looking at you as if you’re the freak. A bit like the Mad Hatter’s tea party in Alice in Wonderland. Well, that’s exactly how I felt listening to Mrs Delfazio.
‘I won’t let you,’ I shouted. ‘Go home to your own family and leave us alone.’
Mrs Delfazio was staring at me nervously, as if it had suddenly occurred to her that all the stories she’d heard about me were true. I turned back to Dad.
‘What about Mum?’ I asked accusingly. ‘Is that it? It’s all over and you’re all better now?’
‘What are you talking about, Luie?’ Dad was looking at me in exactly the same way as that day in the supermarket – as though I was an unexploded bomb with a very short fuse.
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘No, I don’t. I really don’t. What’s your mother got to do with Mrs Delfazio coming to work for us?’
See what I mean about not having a clue? Me, I mean, not Dad.
‘Work?’ I repeated stupidly.
I could tell Dad was trying not to laugh. ‘Luie, Mrs Delfazio’s going to be our housekeeper. That’s all. Three days a week – so you don’t have to do everything anymore. I should have thought of it a long time ago.’
‘Housekeeper?’
‘Yes. Housekeeper.’
‘But I thought …’ ‘I know. It doesn’t matter.’ Dad folded me in against him and held me tight.
‘But Dad, what am I going to do?’ I broke away, suddenly thinking of all the extra time I’d have to think about things I’d rather not think about. ‘I won’t have anything to do.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You’ll find plenty to do. In fact, you can start by reading these.’ He reached for the top of the fridge and tossed a whole lot of brightly coloured brochures onto the table in front of me. Brochures with pictures of churches and castles and people on horses wearing funny hats. I still didn’t understand.
‘A holiday,’ he said. ‘I want you to plan a holiday. For you, Nina and me. Just the three of us. I thought we might go to Spain.’