“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.
“She wants to talk to you, darling,” says Dad, handing the phone back to me. He seems quite unruffled by Mum’s tirade.
“Why won’t he tell me what he’s doing?” Mum’s voice blasts in my ear. “He keeps saying he’s got ‘something to sort out’ with that Brent Lewis. I’ve Googled him, you know. Can’t find anything. You said he lives in a trailer. Did you actually meet him?”
“No.” I glance at Dad, who’s sipping tea now.
“Well, keep an eye on Dad.”
“I will.”
“And I’m coming out, as soon as I can make arrangements. It would be the same time as the church bazaar.” Mum gives a gusty sigh. “I preferred the guitar lessons to this. At least he did them in the garage.”
As I put the phone down, I turn to Dad and see that he’s looking at my necklace with a kind of rueful expression. It’s the Alexis Bittar one that he got me with his BB.
“I love this,” I say, touching it. “I wear it all the time.”
“Do you, darling? That’s good.” He smiles, but there’s something wrong in his smile. I want to scream. What is up?
He finishes his tea, then gets to his feet.
“I must be off.”
“But you’ve only just got here! Where are you going? To Brent’s trailer? Did you call his sister?”
“Becky, it’s my business.” He sounds final. “I’ll be back later.”
Nobody says anything until he’s left the kitchen—then everyone seems to breathe out.
“What is he doing?” I almost squeak with frustration.
“Like he said,” Luke comments, “that’s his business. Why don’t you leave him to it? Come on, poppet,” he adds to Minnie. “Teeth. Come on, you lot,” he adds to the Cleath-Stuarts. “You can all do your teeth too.”