Her mum was putting her dad on a health kick. (He had a giant fat hairy belly, but he could make his belly as hard as a rock if he wanted, and then he’d invite Dakota to punch him. ‘Harder!’ he would roar like some sort of maniac. ‘Are you a man or a mouse?’)
‘What do you think, Dakota? Wouldn’t you prefer to drive, eh? Much better? Much more comfortable?’ said her dad. ‘We can stop and have ice-cream after?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Dakota. ‘As long as we’re back by three o’clock.’ She was going to a Hunger Games party this afternoon, so none of this seemed that relevant. It was her friend Ashling’s party, and Ashling’s mother got really serious about themes. Presumably no one would actually die, she wouldn’t go that far, but there would probably be some really cool archery or something.
As they walked down their driveway towards the street, they heard someone call out from Harry’s old house. ‘Hey there!’
‘Barney!’ said Dakota’s mum as the dog nearly yanked her arm off, straining at the leash, jumping about excitedly and barking. If Dakota could translate dog language she reckoned he would be saying, ‘Another human being! How great is this!’
Her dad stopped in his tracks. ‘Hello!’ he shouted. Like, literally shouted. Like he was calling across a mountain range, not a front yard. ‘How are you? Cracker of a day, isn’t it?!’
Her dad was as excited as Barney to see another human. Seriously.
A man wearing a pale pink buttoned-up polo shirt and very bright white shorts came over towards them, carrying something in his arms. There was a big clean-up going on at Harry’s house today. It had been strange to see pieces of furniture carried out: an old couch, a tiny television, an old, yellowing stained mattress. Dakota had looked away. It was like seeing Harry’s underwear.
‘Hello,’ said the man, sounding breathless, as if he’d run over. He spoke to Dakota’s mum. ‘We met the other day. Steve. Steve Lunt.’
‘Vid! Pleased to meet you!’ said her dad. ‘We’re off for a walk, you know. We’re just walking straight out our front door.’ He made a karate-chop motion with his hand. ‘That’s how we roll. We are outdoorsy people.’
Dakota squirmed.
‘Hi, Steve,’ said her mum. ‘How’s the clean-up going? This is our daughter, Dakota, by the way, and our crazy dog Barney.’
Dakota lifted her hand in the tiniest possible movement to make up for her dad’s bigness and loudness. She tried not to make eye contact so he didn’t feel obliged to get all chatty and fake-interested (‘What grade are you in at school?’).
‘Hi, Dakota,’ said Steve. ‘Actually it’s you I wanted to see. I wondered if you would like to have this old globe. Might look nice in your room?’
He held up an old-fashioned world globe on a wooden stand. It was a golden biscuity colour and it had curly writing like something from an old pirate treasure map. Dakota was surprised to find that she actually wanted it very badly. She could already see it sitting on her desk, glowing gold and mysterious.
‘That’s really beautiful,’ said her mother. ‘But it looks like an antique. It might be worth something. You might want to get it valued.’
‘No, no. I want you to have it. I want it to have a good home,’ said Steve. He smiled at Dakota with nice white teeth and handed the globe to her.
‘Thank you,’ she said. It was heavier than she’d expected.
‘Just don’t rely on it to do your geography homework,’ he said. He touched it with his fingertip so that it spun gently. ‘It shows Persia and Constantinople, instead of Iran and Istanbul.’
‘It is very old indeed then,’ said Vid. ‘It’s a very precious thing for you to give Dakota. Thank you.’
Persia. Constantinople. Dakota hugged the globe to her.
‘I think it belonged to Harry’s son,’ said Steve. He lowered his voice and turned his face slightly towards Dakota’s mother, as if to avoid Dakota hearing, although that just made Dakota listen more carefully. ‘It looked like his son’s bedroom hadn’t been touched since the day he died. My mother thinks it was at least fifty years ago. It was the eeriest thing I’ve ever experienced. Like going back in time. There was a book.’ His voice got all wonky with emotion. ‘Biggles Learns to Fly. Face down on the bed. All his clothes still in the wardrobe.’
Dakota’s mother put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh God. That poor, poor man.’
Great. Now her mother would feel even guiltier about horrible old spitty Harry.
‘We took photos,’ said Steve solemnly.
Dakota thought that was kind of inappropriate. Was he going to put the photos of the dead boy’s room on Instagram now?
Dakota’s dad was getting restless. He rattled his house keys in his pocket. ‘Let’s put that beautiful globe safely inside, eh, Dakota?’
‘Thank you,’ said Dakota to Steve again. ‘Thank you very, very much for this.’