Mesmeris Read online

  ‘Piss off.’ Abbi’s voice had lost its usual spark, despite the words.

  Tipper lifted his hand as if he was going to hit her. Without thinking, I put my arm up to block him, and pushed him away.

  Jess gasped, Abbi’s mouth dropped open - complete silence in the bar.

  Tipper stared at his arm, then turned his icy gaze on me. ‘You touched me,’ he said, as if no one had ever touched him before. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  My voice had completely disappeared. Every atom in my body vibrated.

  ‘That’s Pearl Miller,’ Collins said.

  ‘Well Pearl Miller needs to learn some respect.’ Tipper frowned. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I know you. You’re the vicar’s kid.’ He smiled and turned to his mates. ‘Even better. Why settle for a dog when you can have a holy cow?’ He turned back to me. ‘Tell you what, Miller - we’ll buy you a drink – and then you can do us all a favour.’

  Like hell. I licked my dry lips. ‘I don’t want a drink.’ I wanted it to sound strong, brave. Instead, it came out as a feeble squeak.

  Behind Tipper’s back, I saw Jack move towards us. Not a good idea.

  Tipper pointed a finger in my face. ‘You’re having - a drink.’

  ‘Oi, pal,’ Jack said, ‘are you deaf?’

  Shit! Shit!

  Tipper looked back over his shoulder.

  ‘She said she doesn’t want a drink,’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, in my new squeaky voice. ‘I’ll have a drink.’

  Tipper ignored me. He straightened up, said nothing – terrifying silence.

  ‘Deaf and dumb,’ Jack said.

  One side of Tipper’s mouth opened in a kind of laugh. ‘You don’t know who you’re talking to – pal.’

  ‘Let me guess. Small town thug – mummy’s boy. Am I close?’

  ‘Spot on,’ Abbi said.

  Jess slid down into her seat. ‘Crap!’

  Tipper walked towards Jack, inclined his ear. ‘What d’you say?’

  Jack’s lip twitched as if he found it amusing, idiot boy.

  Tipper slammed the heel of his hand into Jack’s shoulder, spilled his drink down his coat.

  I stood up. ‘Stop it.’

  Jess pulled me down again. ‘Leave them to it.’

  Jack brushed the beer off. ‘You’ll pay for that,’ he said.

  Tipper moved up close. Jack didn’t budge. They stood, millimetres apart, eyes locked together.

  ‘Let’s call the police,’ I said.

  ‘And tell them what?’ Abbi said. ‘Two guys are staring at each other in a pub?’

  The barman appeared. ‘Lads, no trouble please. Settle your arguments outside.’

  Tipper slammed his hand into Jack’s shoulder again, shoved him backwards. Jack’s back hit the counter with a thud. More of his drink splashed onto the floor. The glasses on the bar crashed together.

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ the barman said, each hey louder than the last. ‘Enough.’ He opened the hatch, stood between them, and pointed at Tipper. ‘You lot, out – NOW!’

  Tipper snorted. ‘Brave man, are you?’

  The barman held both hands up. ‘Or we can call the police – up to you.’

  ‘Fine.’ Tipper stared at Jack. ‘We’ll sort this later.’

  Jack smiled.

  Tipper kicked a chair over on his way out, so Jenkins did the same, a slim, dark shadow of his master.

  I’d been holding my breath. I let it out and collapsed back into my seat.

  ‘Thanks,’ Abbi called, as Jack moved back to the bar.

  He smiled at her, downed his drink, and walked out.

  What the hell was wrong with me? It should have been me who said thank you. Two little words – so easy - and I couldn’t even manage a smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We left the pub at four o’clock. Abbi and Jess set off for the shops but I wanted to go home, have a bath and watch TV – pretend everything was normal.

  The street outside the pub was almost deserted, but they were there again, Jack and the other two. Across the road this time, leaning against the wall of what used to be the library. Tipper hadn’t got him, after all, then. Relief made me smile but Jack wasn’t looking. The one in the Parka lit a rollie. I thought about going over, saying thank you, but I was afraid of making an idiot of myself. Jack showed no sign he recognised me, anyway. His gaze slid over me and away again. He said something to the one in the leather coat and the three of them laughed.

  So, Abbi had been wrong – surprise, surprise. I should have known better than to believe it. I walked away, quickened my pace.

  We lived on the outskirts of town - ten, fifteen minutes’ walk from the pub. My usual route went through the park. It seemed safer to stay near the houses this time, in case Tipper was still hanging about.

  ‘Hello.’ Jack must have run to catch me up.

  ‘Hi.’ My whole body shook. Excitement, I suppose, but it felt more like fear. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets, willed myself to stay calm.

  ‘Pearl, isn’t it?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘John Armytage Cooper.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  I shook his hand, feeling idiotic.

  ‘You may call me Jack, if you like,’ he said, in a fake posh voice.

  I wasn’t sure if he was being funny or not. ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘and thanks for - you know, earlier.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  I risked a look at his face. His smile looked genuine, his eyes warm.

  ‘You should be careful,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not scared of a bunch of schoolboys.’

  ‘Well, you should be,’ I said. ‘Tipper’s mental. They’re all mental – and you’re not exactly,’ I looked him over, ‘not exactly muscly, are you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ He stood back, mouth open in fake shock.

  I laughed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’ll have you know,’ he said, ‘beneath this weedy exterior, I happen to be immensely strong.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Another excuse to look him over. Slim but not too skinny, tall, broad shoulders. Gorgeous – just about perfect, in fact. ‘If you say so.’

  Some girls from Lydia’s class watched us from over the road. I glared at them. They looked away and giggled, hands over their mouths.

  ‘You know them?’ he said.

  ‘My sister does.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Does it bother you – them seeing us together?’

  ‘No,’ I said. Him saying ‘us together’ felt good, felt really good.

  ‘Cause I thought maybe you’d like to go - on a little detour.’

  ‘Detour?’ I couldn’t stop my mouth smiling back at him.

  ‘Unless,’ he raised his eyebrows, ‘you’re scared I’ll corrupt you.’

  His words did ridiculous things to my body. I looked away, feigned interest in somebody’s tulips.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘beneath this cowardly exterior I happen to be immensely brave.’

  He had a beautiful laugh.

  He seemed older than me, mainly because of the shadows around his eyes. His skin was pale and smooth, his eyes deep blue, his mouth – I stopped staring at his mouth because he caught me looking.

  ‘It won’t be dark for a while,’ he said, with a slow smile.

  I knew it wasn’t true but reckless excitement filled my head and dulled my brain. After the murder and with all the other weird stuff going on, it would have been sensible to say no but I was tired of being sensible, bored with it. I wanted adventure, wanted what everyone else seemed to have – a life. So, I went with him.

  We walked up ‘the track’ - an old railway line, relic of the industrial revolution, long since abandoned and overgrown. Dad had warned us not to venture up there but he also warned us not to drink too much, take drugs, play with matches, blah, blah, blah.

  The narrow path ran through a copse of trees. Jack walked in front in silence, staring straight ahead and I wondered if he wi
shed he hadn’t brought me. I tried to think of something interesting to say but my brain seemed to have switched off. As the silence dragged on, I began to panic. If I didn’t think of something soon, I was going to have to talk about the weather. Then he stopped and pointed at a tiny bird like a ball of fluff, its tail sticking straight up behind it as it bustled about in the undergrowth.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘A wren.’

  I stood and watched it for a moment - such a sweet little bird.

  ‘They weigh the same as a pound coin,’ he said.

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  He frowned. ‘Don’t know.’ He looked embarrassed, laughed. ‘Just do. Not exactly cool, is it?’

  ‘I like it,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah?’ He did that smile again, the one that made me feel weak, the one that made me think he really liked me.

  The wren disappeared behind a tree. When I looked up, Jack was watching me. He looked sad.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he held out his hand, ‘nothing. Come on.’

  I slipped my hand into his. It felt warm and safe and surprisingly strong. He pulled me along behind him.

  ‘You don’t seem the type to know about birds,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t I? What type do I seem?’

  ‘Scary type.’

  He nodded, didn’t laugh. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘and I also know about birds.’

  The end of the lane opened out onto a patch of waste ground, littered with abandoned trolleys, cans, bottles, and all kinds of other stuff. An old sofa, sagging and threadbare, sat at the brow of the slope, looked out over the town.

  I stopped. ‘Where’re we going?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘Why? D’you want to go back?’

  The sun was already setting. Where the clouds had broken up, their edges glowed a sick, jaundiced yellow. I felt a twinge of unease.

  ‘Thought you were immensely brave,’ he said.

  ‘I am,’ I said. What would the others do? No way would Abbi go home. Jess? I wasn’t sure. If I chickened out, I’d be home in ten minutes – on my own in my room with my homework, like every other boring evening.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’

  I saw something in his dark, dark blue eyes – something I liked, something I trusted.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  A stained mattress half-covered a patch of burned ground. The air stank of burning plastic. The chemical fumes grew stronger as we walked until it began to give me a headache. To our left, three kids crouched over a small fire, their backs to us. The boys looked young, not much older than Lydia. My feet stumbled on the uneven ground as I tried to keep an eye on them, afraid they’d come after us. They didn’t look up though, not once.

  ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The sweet one – like burning plastic or something.’

  ‘Crack,’ he said, as if it was obvious. He probably thought I was an imbecile, not knowing that.

  Blocks of ugly flats stood ahead of us, over the brow of the hill. Below them ran two rows of garages. I hoped Jack would turn back, but no, we walked straight towards them. I blundered along behind him, gripping his hand.

  Crude graffiti covered the filthy garages. Rubbish and dead leaves piled up in every corner, the leaves incongruous somehow, in that God-forsaken place. There was no greenery of any sort there, not a single living thing except us. Not a sound, only an eerie stillness. I almost trod on a dead rat.

  ‘Stop,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not going any further.’ I pointed at the rat at my feet and shuddered.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay here.’

  He put his hand on the back of my neck, moved me back until I felt the garage behind me. I wanted to say I’d changed my mind, but knew he’d hate me, think I was a tease. I thought how Abbi would laugh if she saw me making such a big deal of it. She did this kind of thing all the time. They all did this kind of thing all the time. It was easy, Abbi said, meant nothing. And I liked him, didn’t I?

  Something wasn’t right, though, and not just the less-than-romantic setting. It was him, his eyes. They were hooded, empty, like he’d taken something.

  My heart beat too fast. It made me feel sick. He looked at my mouth, then at my eyes, then back at my mouth. He leaned towards me, his lips slightly open. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists at my side and held my breath. Nothing happened. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me.

  Something like pity crossed his face. He turned away then spun back and punched the garage door, about a foot from my head. It made me jump, the violence in his face, the speed and power of the punch that left a dent in the metal. Then he walked off and stood with his back to me, two garages away. I’d led him on, acted like a prick-tease, but I didn’t know what to do. The sky was darkening by the second, the clouds heavy and dirty brown, and I wanted to go home.

  A movement caught my eye, away to the right. Two figures strode out of the gloom, across the waste ground towards us. I recognised their coats.

  ‘Aren’t those your friends?’

  Jack looked. ‘My brothers,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

  I hesitated, but the angry scowl had gone. In fact, he looked quite happy. He leaned back against the garage, hands in his pockets, at ease as if he’d been there all day. Only his eyes looked wary as he watched them come. The nearer they got, the closer I moved to Jack, until I was standing right next to him.

  ‘Leo’s the one to watch.’ He barely moved his mouth.

  ‘Leo?’ The one to watch? What did that mean?

  ‘The one in the Parka,’ he said. ‘Art’s all right.’

  ‘And Leo’s not?’ I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Their long strides had an urgency to them, a purpose. They stared straight at me, not Jack. They didn’t smile and I thought that coming there had been a mistake – a big one.

  Jack put his arm around my waist.

  His brothers stopped dead.

  Jack laughed. It sounded forced. ‘You frightened her, you idiots,’ he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him shake his head.

  ‘What?’ Leo turned away and aimed a vicious kick at an empty can. It slammed into the garage door. The crash reverberated through the metal, hurt my ears.

  ‘They won’t be happy,’ Art said.

  ‘Tough,’ Jack said. ‘I’m taking her home.’

  Art shrugged. ‘Your funeral.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Leo said.

  Jack slapped him across the head. ‘Manners, Leo.’ He steered me past them, back the way we’d come. ‘Sorry. They’re acting like morons.’

  ‘Bloody scary morons,’ I said. ‘Were you meant to be going somewhere?’

  ‘Just a party. Don’t think it’d be your kind of thing.’ He squeezed my hand.

  Something told me he was right.

  We walked for a while in silence. As we reached the trees, Jack’s steps slowed. ‘Have they put you off?’ he said. ‘Seeing me again, I mean?’

  ‘No.’ I felt a flutter of excitement.

  ‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘I should never have taken you there. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You’re better than that.’ And there it was, that lovely smile. ‘Tell me something about you,’ he said, ‘about your family.’

  ‘There’s just me and my sister.’ He wanted to see me again.

  ‘No parents?’

  ‘No, I mean we’re the only children.’ I laughed. ‘Of course I have parents.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked away, into the trees. ‘Do you love them?’

  ‘Yes.’ What an odd thing to ask.

  ‘And your sister?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I hate her.’

  I laughed but he didn’t.

  ‘Must be nice,’ he said, ‘living with people you love.’ I sensed the sadness come over him, saw it in
the downturn of his mouth, the way his eyes stayed fixed on his shoes, as though fascinated by them.

  ‘Don’t you love your family?’ I said.

  ‘No.’ Definite, absolute.

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘Don’t have any. They’re dead.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ I felt such an idiot. Why did I say 'of course I have parents', like it was a stupid question, like he was a dumbo to ask. I’d even laughed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He quickened his pace.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say except more ‘sorrys’. Everything I thought of sounded trite or patronising so I said nothing, just trotted alongside him.

  By the time we came to the road again it was almost dark. I’d taken a risk and got away with it and, unbelievably, given the inane stuff I’d come out with, he still seemed to like me.

  ‘I have to go,’ Jack said when we reached my house. ‘I’m meeting Tipper.’

  ‘Keep away from him. He’s vicious - really.’

  ‘Shh . . .’ He put his finger on my lips, traced the line, and pushed the tip between them. I stopped breathing. He put his hands either side of my head and kissed me, crushed my lips with his. His stubble grazed my skin. I tasted mint and salt and then it was over.

  ‘You may’ve escaped this time,’ he said. ‘Next time, I may not let you off so lightly.’

  As he disappeared around the corner, I smiled. Next time, he said.

  There was going to be a next time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  All was quiet when I opened the front door. Great! I could sit in my armchair and relive the kiss. No such luck. I pushed the living room door open to find Dad and Uncle Jim having a cup of tea.

  ‘Oh.’ Too late to back out without being rude, I went in.

  Jim sat, as he always did, in Dad’s chair, where he had a clear view of the street, and anyone coming to the front door. Never off duty, always the detective, he liked, he said, to ‘keep an eye out’. What exactly he kept ‘an eye out’ for, he never said – random gangsters and drug dealers, no doubt, who might wander off the street into the vicarage by mistake.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Been busy after school, have we, Pearl?’