Read Online Second Fiddle by Siobhan Parkinson - Free Book Online

book, though, if we could find it. She has an address book, I presume?”
    Gillian shrugged, so I wrote down Zelda’s address book under the words youngish for a dad and then put a large black question mark after it.
    Brendan Regan
    tall
    youngish for a dad
    last seen on Thurs
    Zelda’s address book?
    â€œDo you see your dad every Thursday?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” said Gillian grumpily. “If I did, he wouldn’t be missing, would he?”
    She sounded as if she was beginning to get tired of this inquiry already. I was only getting into it.
    â€œSo, how often do you see him?”
    â€œEvery second Thursday,” said Gillian. “Not!” she added, when she saw the thunderous look on my face. “Not every second Thursday meaning, you know, this week and then skip a week and then next Thursday.”
    â€œI don’t see what else every second Thursday could possibly mean,” I said.
    â€œI mean, the second Thursday of every month. It’s sort of a standing date. We go out for a meal, usually to a steakhouse. I don’t like steak. I only eat the chips. I’m thinking about becoming a vegetarian.”
    â€œLook,” I said in exasperation, “can you stick to the point? We’ll discuss your dietary preferences some other time. Why didn’t you ask him about the money on Thursday, when you saw him?”
    â€œI tried,” Gillian said. “He didn’t get it. I mean, I told him about the audition, but not about needing the money. I thought he’d see that. I didn’t think I needed to spell it out. But he never offered, and then I got—well, I got too embarrassed to ask.”
    â€œYou really are a complete eejit, you know that?”
    Gillian suddenly thought of something. “I’ve got his e-mail address, if that’s any use,” she said. “Only I haven’t got a computer.”
    â€œ I have a computer,” I said. “It was my dad’s. He sort of … left it to me, I suppose you could say.”
    â€œYou mean, I could use your computer to contact him?”
    I nodded.
    â€œGreat,” Gillian said. “Thanks. What’ll I say?”
    â€œHow about, ‘Dear Dad, I forgot to mention the other day that I need…’ How much do you need? A hundred euro; let’s say a hundred to be on the safe side. ‘Dear Dad, Could you see your way to letting me have a hundred euro for my airfare to England so I can go to that audition I mentioned? Mum seems to be a bit short this week.…’”
    â€œâ€˜Because you are such a mean pig,’” Gillian chimed in, “‘and you always leave us short and then you come and pick me up in that stupid black car of yours and take me to that horrible restaurant where I don’t even like the food, and you never want to know anything about me except what it says on my report and if I got any detentions this term, and you sigh when I mention my violin and you keep asking these questions about Zelda and whether she’s seeing anyone, and anyway, everyone knows you love Tim more so you probably won’t let me have the money and you can stuff it, I don’t want it if that’s your attitude.’”
    Gillian banged her pink little fist down on my mother’s dining table and made me jump.
    â€œHmm,” I said, chewing on my pencil. “I don’t think you should say that bit. You do want the money. What about Tim?”
    â€œOh, Tim hasn’t got any. By the time he pays Mum for his keep and.…”
    â€œNo, no, I mean, does he see your dad on every second Thursday too?”
    â€œNo,” said Gillian. “He won’t have anything to do with him. He hates him for leaving us. For being so mean. For only seeing me once a month. For being Dad. But mostly for objecting to Tim being a forester. He wants him to be an engineer. He says being a forester is a job for a peasant.”
    â€œOh,