Shopaholic to the Stars
Page 107

“Grandpa!”
“We found this suspect prowling in the drive—”
“I wasn’t prowling—”
“Let go of him!”
We’re all speaking at once, and poor Wilfie has put his hands over his ears.
“Let go of him!” I yell again, above the hubbub. “He’s my father!”
Reluctantly, Mitchell lets go of Dad’s arm, which he had twisted behind his back. I mean, honestly, how could they think Dad was an intruder? You couldn’t see anyone less suspicious-looking than my dad. He’s wearing summer trousers and a blazer and a panama hat, and he looks as though he’s about to go to a cricket match.
“How’s my Minnie?” he says in delight, as Minnie throws herself at him. “How’s my little sweetheart?”
“Dad, what’s going on?” I demand. “Why are you here? Mum’s so worried!”
“Are you sure this is your dad?” Mitchell says mistrustfully to me.
“Of course I’m sure!”
“Well, he’s not on the list.” Jeff gives me his reproachful look again. “Rebecca, we need comprehensive information to work effectively.”
“I didn’t know he was coming!”
“So how did he access the drive? How did he open the gates?” Jeff is still frowning suspiciously at Dad.
“It’s the same code as the garage at home,” says Dad cheerily. “I thought I’d chance it, and, hey presto.”
“I always use the same code,” I explain to Jeff. “It’s the same as my PIN number too. And my mum’s. That way, we can get money out for each other. It’s really handy.”
“You use the same code for everything?” Jeff looks aghast. “Your mother has the same code? Rebecca, we talked about code safety.”
“Oh, right,” I say guiltily. “OK. I’ll change it. One of them. All of them.”
(I’m so not going to change anything. Four numbers is hard enough to remember as it is.)
“Welcome, Graham.” Luke is shaking Dad’s hand. “Would you like some breakfast? You’ll be staying with us, of course.”
“If that’s all right.”
“Dad, where’ve you been?” I chime in impatiently. “What’s going on? Why are you in L.A.?”
There’s silence in the kitchen. Even Jeff and Mitchell look interested.
Dad gives me a guarded smile. “I just have some business to take care of. That’s all. I stayed at a hotel last night, and here I am.”
“It’s Brent Lewis, isn’t it? Dad, what’s the mystery?”
“No mystery,” says Dad. “Simply …” He hesitates. “Something I have to put right. Might I make myself a cup of tea?” He reaches for the teakettle and peers at it, puzzled. “Does this go on the stove?”
“That’s how they do it in America,” I explain. “They don’t understand electric kettles. But, then, they don’t really understand tea either. Here, I’ll do it.” I fill the kettle with water, plonk it on the hob, then immediately text Mum: He’s here!!!
Dad has sat down at the table with Minnie on his lap and is playing Incy Wincy Spider with her. Soon all the other children are clustering around, too, and he doesn’t even notice me texting. A minute or two later, my phone rings, and it’s Mum.
“Where is he?” she demands shrilly. “What’s he doing? Does he know how worried I’ve been?”
“I’m sure he does,” I say hurriedly. “I’m sure he’s really sorry. There’ll be a brilliant explanation, I know it.” Dad glances up, his expression blank, and I make vigorous hand gestures, which are supposed to mean, It’s Mum!
“Well, put me on!”
“Er, Dad,” I say. “It’s Mum. She wants to talk to you.” I hold out the phone gingerly and take a step backward.
“Jane,” says Dad, as he takes the phone. “Now, Jane. Jane, listen. Jane.”
I can hear Mum’s tinny voice coming through the phone in a constant, high-pitched stream. Dad clearly can’t get a word in.
Suze raises her eyebrows at me, and I shrug back helplessly. I’ve never felt at quite such a loss.
“You mustn’t concern yourself,” Dad is saying. “I’ve told you, it’s simply an issue with a couple of old friends.” He pours boiling water into the teapot. “No, I’m not coming home on the next flight! I must do this.” He sounds suddenly resolute.
I look questioningly at Luke, who also shrugs. This is driving me mad.