Kisses for Lula Read Online Free PDF Page A

talk like that, Penelope. You are not forty.’
    ‘Forty’s not that old,’ muttered Dad, running his hand through his thick brown hair.
    ‘Sure,’ I said hastily. ‘Plus you look good for your age, Dad.’
    ‘You can move into the annexe, T-Bird,’ he said, and pushed himself up and away from the table. ‘Right now if you like. I’m going back to bed.’
    ‘
Whaaaaaat?
’ shrieked Pen.
    I laughed long and hard. Even Mum was smiling.
    ‘Give it a rest, Pen, dear,’ she said. ‘You’ll get your chance too.’
    ‘It’ll be infested with disease, and pestilence, and mould and sundry funguses, by the time I –’
    ‘Fungi,’ I said, and promptly regretted it. I needed to shower anyway before going to Arns’s place, but it took forever to get the noodles out of my hair.
    Mum agreed I deserved a lift to Arnold’s house.
    ‘Be gentle with him, Tallulah,’ she said, pulling up outside his gate. ‘No tattoos. Call me when you’re done. I don’t suppose you’ll be going anywhere on foot with that.’ She nodded over at my ancient sewing machine on the back seat.
    ‘I appreciate the lift, Mum,’ I said.
    ‘Better than walking past the St Alban’s dining halls after supper,’ she replied.
    Sometimes I think I underestimate Mum’s intuition. Pulling out an enormous backpack, I slammed the passengerdoor and had begun wrestling with the back door when Arns loped up.
    ‘Hi, Mrs Bird,’ he said cheerily to Mum, then stopped dead when he saw me staggering under the weight of my bag.
    ‘Uhhh, you staying the night?’ he asked me nervously.
    Mum pursed her lips and sucked in her cheeks. I did not grace his query with a reply.
    ‘Help me with the sewing machine, will you?’
    ‘Ohh!’ Arns looked relieved and I felt strangely irritated. ‘It’s all your makeover supplies. Good.’ He scurried round and had the sewing machine balanced deftly under his left arm by the time Mum had fired up the Citroën. He slammed the door and waved her off. I’m sure I could hear her cackling all the way to West Street, four roads over, but what are children for if not to provide endless entertainment for their parentals. I sighed and followed Arns in through his front door. He headed straight upstairs. I followed, hard on his heels.
    ‘Um. Shouldn’t I say hi to your folks?’
    ‘Mum’s out on a case, Dad’s dead.’
    ‘Oh, geez. Geez. Sorry, Arns. I’m sure I knew that.’
    ‘Forget it. Let’s get makeovering.’
    ‘Coo–’ I started to say, but on arrival at his bedroom, Arns flung the door open and it came out as, ‘–ell!’
    ‘Like it?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘No? I’ve spent hours doing this!’
    ‘You’ll have to start again.’ I walked into the freshly painted room. The sheer redness of it all made me feel slightly sick. I looked up. ‘Thank God you didn’t get to the ceiling.’
    I heard someone behind me and turned to see Arns’s sister, Elsa. ‘He said it was the colour of passion,’ she said, and that was it. One look at Arns’s puzzled face and I dropped my bag, bending over double and shouting with laughter so loudly my throat hurt. She crumpled over too, the only sound an occasional gasp for air.
    Arns dumped the sewing machine on his bed with not enough care for my liking.
    ‘Is this humour at my expense?’ he asked.
    I caught a glimpse of his face looking suddenly vulnerable behind the mock fury, and pulled myself together, wiping my eyes. Elsa mumbled something about getting more paint, and crawled on her hands and knees out of the room, still struggling for breath.
    I bent across to lift up the sewing machine from the bed. ‘Where can I put this, Arns?’
    He gestured numbly to a desk in the corner.
    ‘Perfect,’ I said, going over, and put it down carefully.
    ‘I, er . . .’ said Arns, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his baggy woolly jumper.
    ‘I knew it!’
    Arnold jumped. He saw the look in my eye and took a step back. ‘Uh-oh, what now?’ he