Candyfloss (25 page)

21

WE HAD TO
go to hospital. I was completely fine but they needed to check that I hadn’t inhaled too much smoke. Dad had burns on his hands where he’d fought his way forward to grab me. They were both bandaged up so that it looked as if he was wearing white boxing gloves. Dad was very brave and didn’t even flinch when the nurse rubbed ointment on, but I started crying.

‘Hey, hey, Floss, no tears, sweetheart, I’m fine. Look, I’m being wound up like an ancient Egyptian. Only I’m not a mummy, I’m a daddy!’

It wasn’t really funny but I sniffled a little, and the nurse laughed out loud.

‘Don’t worry, dear, your dad’s going to be as right as rain. He’ll have to keep his bandages on for a bit but he should heal up nicely. It’ll be a good excuse for him to sit back and have your mum wait on him for a week or so.’

‘Hmm,’ I said. I patted Dad’s knee. ‘
I’ll
wait
on
you, Dad. You saved my life! You’re a hero!’

‘Rubbish, pet. I didn’t do anything,’ said Dad.

‘Yes, you did, mate,’ said Saul, poking his head round the cubicle curtain. His arm was in a sling because one of the guys had tried to knife him. ‘You saved me too, grabbing that punk by the wrist so he dropped his knife,’ he said.

‘I wasn’t really thinking straight. I just caught hold of him – and as luck would have it, that’s when he dropped the knife,’ said Dad.

‘No, your little girl’s right, you’re a hero,’ said Jenny, Saul’s girlfriend.

Saul had had to take off all his huge silver skull rings and bangles so she was wearing them for him, jangling and clanking every time she moved her arms. She stroked Saul’s sore arm tenderly.

‘It’s only a flesh wound but it could have been far worse,’ she said.

Dad and Saul had to give statements to a policeman, though I kept dozing off while they were talking because it was the middle of the night now. I cuddled Dimble and Ellarina, who were a little singed but safe. Every time I went to sleep I heard the ugly raised voices, I felt the thuds, the shaking, I saw the sudden gold-red flare of flame and I started crying. Each time Dad held me in his arms, patting me with his big bandaged hands, soothing me.

‘Come on, I’ve got to get my little girl home,’ said Dad – and eventually they let us go.

We had no way of getting back from the hospital and Dad didn’t have much cash on him, but Saul and Jenny were waiting and they shared a taxi with us, taking us all the way to Billy the Chip’s house for nothing.

‘If you’d like to come back tomorrow I’ll give you the fare,’ said Dad.

‘Think nothing of it, mate. Still, I might well come back visiting,’ said Saul.

They dropped us off and we staggered up the path to Billy’s. I had to feel in Dad’s pocket for the key and open the front door for us. Lucky and Whisky and Soda were waiting worriedly in the hall, twining themselves round our ankles like furry feather boas, wondering why we’d been out so late.

‘Let’s get straight to bed, little Floss,’ said Dad. ‘It’s all right now, baby, we’re safe and sound.’ But as he said it he suddenly started shaking. ‘Oh Floss, I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been, dragging you off to that van night after night. You could have been burned to a crisp and it would have all been my fault.’

‘No Dad! It wasn’t
your
fault, silly. You rescued me. I’m fine, we’re both fine,’ I said, putting my arms round Dad and hugging him tight.

Dad cried a little bit while I patted him on the back. Then his nose started running and he couldn’t blow it properly with his poor bandaged hands so I had to help him.

‘It’s like you’re my big baby, Dad,’ I said.

I had to help him undo all his buttons and shoe laces so he could get ready for bed. When I was in bed myself Dad lay down at the end with his pillow and blanket so that every time I dreamed about the fire and woke up he could soothe me back to sleep.

He said I could stay off school in the morning. We didn’t set the alarm but we both woke up very early even so. We had to have a special long cuddle just to make sure we were both all right.

‘I’ll have to phone poor Billy and tell him what’s happened to his van,’ said Dad, sighing. ‘Goodness knows how he’s going to react. That old chip van has been in his family for so many years. I feel so bad. It’ll probably break his heart. It seems so cruel to interrupt his holiday and tell him, but I’m worried the police will have to contact him at some stage, so I’d better let him know first.’

I carefully made Dad a cup of tea, and he managed to balance it between his bandages and sip from it. Then he dictated Billy’s son’s phone number and I dialled it for him.

Dad got through straight away but couldn’t get
a
word in edgeways at first. Billy the Chip was burbling away on the other end, telling Dad Sydney was wonderful, his son was wonderful, his son’s wine bar was wonderful, the weather was wonderful – and Dad had to listen with an agonized expression, trying to wade into this wave after wave of wonder.

‘I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Billy, mate, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,’ Dad blurted out eventually. ‘Last night there was a bit of a ruckus with some yobs. They were trying to tip the van over, and the fat in the fryer caught fire. I’m afraid the van’s been burned, Billy. What? No, no, I’m fine, hands got a bit singed, that’s all. Thank God Floss is fine too. But I’m not quite sure how we’re going to get the van back into action. Have you got proper insurance? Oh thank God, because truthfully, mate, it’s a total write-off. But if you can get the insurance sorted when you’re back from Oz then I’ll help you buy a new van, get the business up and running again – though I’ll have to make some kind of arrangement for Floss: I’m not risking her in a van at night now. What’s that? Really? You truly mean that, Billy?’ Dad listened. He nodded. He shook his head. He blew his breath out, his lower lip jutting.

‘Yeah, yeah. Thanks, mate, but you don’t have to. No, no, we’ll be moving on soon anyway.
Definitely
. Well, we’ve no actual concrete plans but something’s bound to bob up out of the blue. OK then. You enjoy yourself, pal. Go for it. Bye then.’ Dad put the phone down. He rolled his eyes at me.

‘He says he wants to stay in Australia and help his son with his bar! It’s a boys only bar too – not really Billy’s sort of place at all – but he says he’s so enjoying being with his son he wants to stick by him. I don’t know whether it will work out in the long term but he seems sure that’s what he wants. He’s intent on giving up his chip van, whatever happens. He says he’s thinking of putting this house on the market too, though we can stay in it for the time being.’ Dad made to scratch his head and ended up patting it with his bandages. ‘Strikes me the world’s gone bonkers, Floss. Still, I suppose we should be happy for Billy.’ He raised his mug of tea unsteadily. ‘Here’s to Billy the Chip!’

‘Here’s to Billy the Chip,’ I repeated – and Lucky and Whisky and Soda mewed.

‘Hey, Dad, what about his
cats
?’

‘Well, he says maybe we can find a good home for them. He’s thinking of having some firm pack up some of his stuff and ship it to Australia, but he can hardly do that to old Whisky and Soda. I doubt they’d last the journey.’

‘Well, are
we
a good home, Dad?’ I asked.

‘We haven’t got a good home for
us
, pet, let alone Billy’s manky old cats.’

‘
Us
meaning you, me and Lucky?’

‘Us three, absolutely,’ said Dad.

I made Dad and me some toast, and fed all three cats. I felt a bit weird not going to school. I was worried about Susan stuck in our classroom in front of Rhiannon without me.

‘Maybe I’ll go into school after all, Dad, if you feel you can cope OK.’

‘Are you sure, Floss? You’re probably still in a state of shock. I know I am.’

‘Yes, but you’re wounded, Dad,’ I said, very gently stroking his bandages.

‘I can’t drive you at the moment, but I’ll walk you there, if you like,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve got to go and sort out what’s happening to the chip van anyway. And I’ve got to buy something too – a mobile phone! Then I feel I can always summon help straight away if we’re in any more bother. I haven’t much idea what they cost, and we’d better hang onto every penny now the chip van business is up the creek, but I thought about selling something. Not that I’ve got much left to sell, admittedly. I wondered about the cuckoo clock. I know it doesn’t go any more, but it’s quite old, and the carving’s nice. I could take it into that antique place and see what they offer me.’

‘But it’s your wedding present, Dad!’

‘Yes, I know. But your mum never really liked it. And now – well, your mum and I aren’t married any more, are we?’

I swallowed. ‘Sometimes I wish you and Mum
were
still married, Dad,’ I said.

‘I know, pet. Sometimes I still wish that too. But your mum’s moved on now – literally! Maybe it’s time I did too. You won’t mind too much if we get rid of the cuckoo clock, will you?’

‘I’d much sooner we had a mobile, Dad. Can it be half mine too? Hey, even Rhiannon hasn’t got her own mobile phone yet! I’ll be so cool.’

We wrapped the cuckoo clock in newspaper and Dad put it in his backpack. There was a specialist clock man in the antique centre. He sniffed at our clock a bit, but admitted it was Victorian and hand-carved. He didn’t offer that much at first, but Dad argued and eventually he gave him a hundred pounds!

‘Wow, Dad! We’re rolling in it now!’ I said.

‘Not really
rolling
in it, Floss,’ said Dad – but we certainly had enough to buy our mobile phone.

Then we went to the station to have a look at the chip van. It had been towed back into the shed where Billy always kept it. We peered in at it in silence. It was black all over, with half the roof actually burned off. Dad wound his arms round me
tightly
. We stood for a few seconds and then crept away again.

‘I feel like I’ve let Billy down,’ said Dad mournfully.

‘But he doesn’t want his chip van any more, Dad, he said so.’

‘He might change his mind. Still, I suppose he can always buy a brand-new van with his insurance money.’

We trudged on past the station. I knew where we were going now. Dad looked at me quizzically. I nodded. It wasn’t worth walking all round the moon when the direct way to school went straight past our café.

Harlie’s Café didn’t exist any more. It was now a Starbucks. Dad stood staring at the smart green paintwork. He stepped up to the window and looked in, past the orange lamps and all the people standing at the counter and sitting at every single table and chair and sofa. He stood still and sighed softly. Then he suddenly waved.

‘Look who’s in there!’ he said. ‘It’s Old Ron and Miss Davis! Look, they’re sitting
at the same table
! And getting on like a house on fire as far as I can see. Let’s embarrass them terribly and go and say hello.’

We went into the café. It was just like stepping into any coffee bar anywhere. I looked up at the
ceiling
, wondering what was up there now. The girl cleaning the table looked up too, as if worried I’d spotted a leak.

‘Yes?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Who lives up there?’ I asked.

‘No one. It’s just the office and the storeroom,’ she said.

‘It isn’t a flat any more?’

‘I think it was once,’ she said – like it was a hundred years ago. ‘But it was in a terrible state. Goodness knows who lived there.’

I glanced nervously at Dad, who was thankfully deep in conversation with Old Ron and Miss Davis, gesturing theatrically with his bandaged hands. They were gasping appreciatively.

‘Excuse me,’ I said to the girl, and ran over to join my dad.

Old Ron and Miss Davis were an extremely satisfying audience. They also said how much they missed Charlie’s Café.

‘I’m on my beam ends, drinking Starbucks coffee,’ said Old Ron. ‘Talk about pricey!’

I didn’t know what his beam was and where it ended, but I got the gist of what he was saying.

‘And Mr Starbucks doesn’t have a clue when it comes to making a good plain cup of tea from a nicely warmed pot,’ said Miss Davis, sighing.

‘Well, as soon as my bandages are off I’ll make
you
as many cups of tea and coffee as you can manage at my place,’ said Dad, but then he bit his lip. ‘Well . . . Billy’s place. Whatever.’

‘Is he
really
going to sell up?’ said Old Ron.

‘So he says. Hey, Ron, if push came to shove, you wouldn’t take on his old cats, would you? Whisky and Soda, two very nice old ladyfriends.’

‘Well . . .’ said Old Ron. ‘In the general run of things I
might
say yes, but now
I’ve
got this very nice old ladyfriend who isn’t at all keen on cats.’ He nudged Miss Davis in the ribs.

She glared at him. ‘Utter nonsense! And watch what you’re doing, I bruise easily,’ she said, but she wasn’t really cross. She leaned across the table at me. ‘Do they catch birds?’

‘Oh no, Miss Davis, never in a million years. They can’t catch anything, they’re far too lazy and plump. They don’t even crunch up their cat food properly; they just suck all the juice off the fishy chunks. But they’re really lovely kind cats. They’ve tried to be very motherly to my cat Lucky. I’m sure you’d like them if you met them.’

‘Well, if there’s really no other alternative I won’t object if Ronald wants to give the creatures a proper home for their twilight years,’ said Miss Davis.

‘Old Ron and Miss Davis seem to be taking care of
their
twilight years,’ said Dad, as we continued
our
long rambling walk to school. ‘Fancy, all those years of coming into my café and they barely spoke to each other. And then there’s Billy the Chip, so stuck in his ways he did the same thing every single day of his life, and yet now he’s upped sticks and swanning around Australia. Your mum too, of course.’ Dad sighed. ‘They’ve all moved on. I’ve stayed stuck. No, I haven’t even done that, I’ve started going backwards. One moment I’ve got a wife, a child, my own business, and then the next –
poof!
’ But Dad was smiling at me. ‘I’ve still got the most important little person in my life, that’s all that matters. Come on then, Floss. Let’s get you to school. You’re astronomically late. I hope you won’t get a telling-off. Do you want me to come in with you and explain?’