Mesmeris Read online

  ‘We’ll be combining art and English lit in one school trip,’ she said. ‘They should give us an award for studiousness.’

  Seemed unlikely that was going to happen.

  ‘Isn’t that one of Jack’s friends?’ Abbi pointed towards the gates.

  Leo, the one in the Parka, stood just outside the gates. ‘His brother,’ I said.

  Abbi arched her back, pushing her boobs forward, and brushed her hair back off her shoulder. Don’t know why she bothered. We were out of Leo’s eye line. He had one arm propped against the railings, had Tipper trapped between them and the gate. He leaned forwards, into Tipper’s personal space.

  ‘Ooh!’ Jess rubbed her hands together. ‘Perhaps he’s gonna give Tipper a smack for messing with Jack.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ Abbi sat forward. ‘Tipper’s shit-scared, that’s for sure.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ I said. ‘You can only see his back.’

  ‘Body language,’ Abbi said. ‘Head lowered, arms at his side. When have you seen him like that?’

  She had a point. Tipper’s stance certainly looked submissive. He nodded at something Leo said.

  Leo straightened up, patted Tipper’s shoulder.

  Phew! One less thing to worry about.

  Tipper strolled back to his gang, no sign of being shit-scared - quite the opposite - cocky grin, arrogant swagger.

  Abbi laughed. ‘Look at the tosser trying to save face. What a loser.’

  Leo looked up and caught us watching. He smiled, blew us a theatrical kiss.

  ‘He - is – so - fit,’ Abbi said, with a sigh.

  Perhaps he was, to look at. There was definitely something weird about him though – something nasty about his hard, glittery eyes.

  On the walk to school the next morning, I realised I’d forgotten to tell Jack about the trip.

  He gave me a sideways look. ‘Are those guys going? From the pub?’

  ‘No. They don’t do art. Anyway, that’s all sorted.’

  ‘Sorted?’ He frowned. How?’

  ‘Your brother was there yesterday, talking to Tipper.’

  He caught my elbow, stopped walking. ‘Which brother?’

  ‘Leo. He is the one in the Parka, right?’

  He nodded, still frowning. ‘I wouldn’t trust him to sort anything. He’s a toe-rag.’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, it looked like he was protecting you.’

  He snorted. ‘You don’t know Leo.’ His gaze lingered on my mouth, made me breathless. ‘Look. don’t go,’ he said. ‘Stay with me.’ He put his arms around my waist, pulled my hips to his and moved against me, sent electricity shooting crazily round my body. ‘I’ll make it – educational - promise.’

  I felt my mouth copy his slow smile. A choice - school trip, or all day with those eyes, that smile, that body.

  ‘My mum’ll kill me.’

  His smile widened. ‘Good decision.’ He parted my lips with his tongue and everything disappeared, everything except his mouth on my mouth, his hard body pressed against mine. When he let me go, I staggered like a drunk, dazed and disorientated.

  A black VW Beetle appeared around the corner.

  ‘Oh, God! It’s my mum,’ I said.

  He watched the car. ‘Make an excuse. Tell her – something.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to go. See you tonight?’

  He looked from me to the car and back again. ‘Don’t know if I can last that long.’

  I laughed at his miserable face. ‘You’d better.’

  The car slowed, indicator flashing as it drew near. Mum and Lydia peered at Jack through the windscreen.

  ‘Go,’ I pushed him away, ‘or you’ll have to meet my mum.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ He marched off, hands in his pockets, hunched into his coat. He turned back. ‘Tonight, then.’

  Mum stopped alongside me. ‘Jump in,’ she said.

  I climbed in the back, watched Jack turn off into St John street.

  ‘Who was that?’ Mum said.

  ‘Nobody – a boy from school.’ In the wing mirror, I saw Lydia smirk and kicked the back of her seat.

  ‘Did I not say I’d give you a lift?’ Mum said.

  ‘Did you? Sorry.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Sure, I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I like walking.’ My mouth stretched into the biggest smile ever, so wide it made my jaw ache. I stared out of the window to hide it. He wanted me – he really wanted me – and tonight was only hours away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Everyone stood about in the chilly yard, huddled together in little groups as they tried to get out of the wind. We stamped our feet and rubbed our hands together, while the driver sat in the warm coach with the engine running, looking at a newspaper.

  ‘Oh, Gross!’ Abbi pretended to be sick. ‘Look at his face. Bet I know what he’s looking at.’

  ‘Yuk, Abbi,’ Jess said. ‘That’s disgusting. He’s old - and fat - and ugly.’

  Abbi laughed. ‘Look at him. Bet that stupid slapper doesn’t imagine some ugly perve like him drooling over her tits - Urgh!’ Abbi said, even louder than before. ‘Oh God - now he’s picking his nose.’

  ‘ABBI,’ I shouted. ‘Do you want me to be sick before we even get on the bloody bus? Look somewhere else, for God’s sake.’

  The coach door opened with a hiss and the girls climbed on. I held back, half-hoping Jack would turn up. Stupid mistake because by the time I did get on, the coach was almost full and I had to sit near the back. The teachers climbed on after me.

  I stared out of the window, daydreaming about what would happen that night. I remembered the way he’d kissed me, the way his body felt against mine. Nine hours to wait – nine hours too long. I decided to make an excuse – say I felt ill – go and find him and . . .

  The sound of some kind of commotion came from the front of the coach. Tipper and his crew tramped on, pushed past Mr Wilkes, and swaggered up the aisle. Tipper led the way. He stared straight at me and rubbed his knuckles.

  ‘You’re not booked on this trip,’ Miss Ellis shouted after them.

  Tipper rolled his eyes. ‘We cleared it with the head,’ he said, with a sigh, as if it was a huge effort to explain. ‘Ask Mr Wilkes.’

  Mr Wilkes nodded, waved a piece of paper in the air, shrugged.

  ‘But you don’t even do art,’ Miss Ellis said.

  Tipper didn’t bother to turn to face her. ‘Broadening our education – Miss.’ His pale eyes stared into mine.

  Any sensible person would have looked away, I suppose, but I couldn’t. There was a horrible inevitability about the whole thing. It felt as if it had all happened before. I even knew what he was going to say.

  He leaned over, into my space. ‘Don’t think your boyfriend’ll be up to much for a while, Miller.’ He made a sad face. ‘Had an accident. Tragic, really.’

  I stood up, blood whooshing in my ears. He pushed me back into the seat.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, as an afterthought, ‘sends his love, by the way.’ He stroked his chin. Torn, bloody knuckles. ‘Your sister,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’

  He smiled, put his finger to his lips, while his cold, blue eyes taunted me.

  ‘Sit down, boys,’ Mr Wilkes shouted, to no effect.

  ‘Hey, Jenks,’ Tipper said. ‘You seen Miller’s sister?’

  ‘Yeah - nice.’ Jenkins drew out the word.

  ‘She is, isn’t she? Very attractive. It’s Lydia, isn’t it, Miller?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jenkins sneered, ‘her name’s definitely Lydia. Few of the lads got the hots for her.’

  I stared at Tipper, clutched my arms so he wouldn’t see them shaking. ‘She’s thirteen.’

  He nodded, smiled, said nothing.

  ‘You’re sick.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, happily. ‘And you don’t know how sick, so keep your fucking mouth shut – or you’ll find out.’

  ‘Sit down
, please,’ Mr Wilkes shouted again. ‘Seat belts on, everyone. Boys, SIT DOWN.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Miller,’ Tipper said. ‘Dim here’ll keep you company. Don’t want you being on your own, not at a time like this.’ He patted my shoulder, smiled a sympathetic smile. ‘Need your friends around you.’

  ‘Anyone not sitting down can get off this coach,’ Mr Wilkes shouted, ‘and that includes you, Al Capone, and your mob.’

  Tipper waved a hand. ‘Okay, okay. Keep your hair on.’

  Everyone laughed – except me. Mr Wilkes had no hair.

  Aaron Dimmock crashed into the seat next to me just as the coach set off. Big, bordering on fat, he had tattoos over his biceps and a gold earring in one ear – the wrong ear, apparently. Not that anyone with a survival instinct would suggest Dim was gay. His cropped brown hair had a crappy snake design shaved into the back. He considered himself the hard man of the group but the others laughed at him behind his back. He thought they called him Dim because of his surname. They didn’t.

  Perhaps I could use him to find out where Jack was. I stared at his hard, piggy eyes, his thin-lipped, nasty little mouth.

  ‘Aaron . . .’

  ‘Shut it.’

  Oh, he was a charmer.

  I tried again. ‘Sounds like you really battered him then - that boy.’

  He smirked. ‘Shoulda seen it - hilarious. Really messed ‘im up, the spineless tosser.’

  My stomach tightened.

  ‘Tip’s planning on teaching you a lesson later.’ He leered towards me and raised his eyebrows. ‘Looking forward to that.’ He stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles.

  ‘Didn’t anyone see you?’

  ‘We’re not stupid.’ He looked at me as if I was the idiot. ‘Got him behind school, by the sheds. . .’

  Oh, God! He must have tried to get to me.

  ‘. . . Knew everybody’d be out the front, waiting for the bus. Tell you what, Miller, he’s one unholy freak. Didn’t make a sound - nothing - even when Tip kicked him in the balls.’ He chuckled. ‘Made me eyes water, that.’

  My stomach lurched. ‘I’m going to throw up.’

  Dim jumped out of the way and pushed me towards the back of the coach. ‘Don’t talk.’

  He didn’t need to worry; the chances of me being able to talk were nil. I could barely manage to walk. Everything sounded far away. I couldn’t see properly, the edges of my vision were blurred. I lurched towards the toilet, grabbed hold of the seats as I went, tried to concentrate on my breathing, tried to keep my stomach where it was meant to be. It seemed to take forever to get inside the cubicle and shut the door. I splashed my face with cold water and sat down on the toilet seat, my head between my knees.

  Gradually, my hearing returned and I got my phone out to call Jack. It slipped out of my shaking hands, clattered to the floor, and slid into the corner. I retrieved it, my head woozy, and tried again. No signal.

  Some kind of demented clown looked back at me from the mirror - pale green face, black mascara around the eyes and streaked down the cheeks, chalky white lips. I sat for a moment, my head in my hands, and tried to think sensibly. I held the phone above my head in the hope of picking up a signal and tried yet again. Error. I could have cried.

  Someone banged on the door. I struggled to my feet, my head muzzy. A girl from another class stood outside, arms folded across her chest, head on one side, lips pursed. She looked me up and down.

  ‘Christ!’ she said, ‘what’ve you come as - a zombie?’

  A few people laughed and the girl smirked. Bitch!

  There was nowhere to go but back to my seat.

  Dim stood up, almost as if he was a gentleman, except for the shove he gave me when I was too slow moving into my seat. ‘Hope you’ve finished chucking up,’ he said.

  I stared blindly out of the window and tried to make a plan – a plan to get home, a plan to find Jack.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We all trooped off the coach outside St Paul’s Cathedral. As I reached the bottom of the steps, Miss Ellis, the art teacher, stopped me.

  ‘Are you all right, Pearl?’

  Tipper leaned over my shoulder. ‘Travel sick,’ he said.

  Miss Ellis raised her eyebrows. ‘Changed your name to Pearl, have you, Matthew?’

  Tipper scowled.

  Miss Ellis touched my arm. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Miss.’

  Her eyes searched mine. I looked away.

  ‘Good girl,’ Tipper whispered in my ear as he steered me away. ‘Wouldn’t want anything to happen to Lydia now, would we?’

  I shook his arm off.

  ‘You wanna be careful.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You wanna be nice to me, girl.’ His eyes flicked to Abbi and Jess. ‘I’m watching you,’ he said, and walked away.

  ‘Shit, look at you!’ Abbi said. ‘What happened?’

  Jess put her arm around me. ‘God, Pearl, you look awful.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I managed a laugh.

  Tipper caught my eye, put his finger to his lips, and blew me a kiss.

  Maybe I should have told the girls, but then what? They’d only run to the teachers. Even though the gang were all there in London, they had plenty of hangers-on in school, people who’d do anything to get on their good side. One phone call would be enough. So I lied. ‘Travel sick,’ I said.

  ‘You were too far back,’ Abbi said. ‘You should have got on with us. I knew you’d be ill.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Jess said. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up when we get there.’

  We left St Paul’s behind. The creamy-white cathedral may have been what our history teacher called ‘the symbol of hope amidst disaster’, but it didn’t comfort me. It filled the sky, felt as if it was about to topple over on our heads.

  All the way across the Millennium Bridge, I felt the boys watching me. I stared at the sludge-green Thames gurgling below us and wanted to push Tipper into it, push them all into it and watch them flounder around, watch them drown.

  Bankside power station loomed in front of us. Fitting, in a way - the dark, forbidding building, the menacing clouds behind – as if they were working with Tipper, helping him to frighten me.

  Once inside the gallery, the boys backed off a little. Abbi and Jess fussed about, led me to the toilets, helped me clean most of the mascara from my face.

  ‘You look cool,’ Jess said, ‘like a rock star after a mega night out.’

  I laughed, felt my stomach muscles relax a little. Maybe I’d be able to get away. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed. I reached for my phone. It wasn’t there. I searched my pockets, tried to remember where I’d put it.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jess said.

  ‘My phone – it’s gone.’ I knelt on the floor and went through my bag, through every pocket, trying to hide my desperation. ‘I need to ring home.’

  Jess handed me her phone. I couldn’t remember the mobile numbers, so rang the house. I held my breath. It rang, and rang - and rang. No reply. I wanted to smash something and scream the place down. Instead, I turned away from the girls to hide my face. They were busy examining themselves in the mirror anyway. I looked at the ceiling and blinked until the tears went away. Then I took a deep breath, and forced my mouth into a smile. I turned around.

  ‘Ready?’ I said.

  Abbi and Jess walked straight past the boys waiting outside. Dim waved something in front of my face. I reached for it but he snatched my phone away and they laughed like two-year-olds.

  Miss Ellis spotted me. ‘Stay near me, Pearl,’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine, Miss.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look it. I want to keep an eye on you.’

  So I stayed near her, like an infant, surprised she didn’t hold my hand. I watched the boys. Watched them disappear in turn and come back, hyped-up and twitchy. Watched their eyes darken, their pupils enlarge. Heard their laughter change, grow louder, more brittle, more unnerving.

  In my head, plan
s formed and died. How to escape from Miss Ellis. How to escape from the boys. How to get home. Buses – there were loads of them. Trouble was, I didn’t know where they went. It would have to be a train, the Underground, the Tube. All I had to do was find a station and there were stations everywhere, all over London. If I walked far enough, I’d find one.

  So, I wandered around the gallery, oblivious to the art, and waited for my chance. Just before lunch, Miss Ellis gathered us together for a talk. ‘Free afternoon,’ she shouted, ‘but I want everyone back at the coach at four o’clock – on the dot.’ She looked at something behind me and frowned.

  Jenkins and Collins had each other in a headlock. They staggered back and knocked a little girl off her feet. ‘Shit!’ Jenkins said. He and Collins shouted with laughter.

  There was a second’s delay before the girl cried. Her high-pitched wails grew louder and louder, drowning out Miss Ellis’s furious shouts. ‘You two, get here now.’

  The boys ignored her, crying with laughter. Tipper patted Jenkins on the back in congratulation as passers-by stared at them. Miss Ellis’s face turned purple.

  The father picked the little girl up in his arms. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he said. He stroked the child’s head and murmured comfort. Her cries gradually eased to snuffles. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and stared at Miss Ellis with huge, watery eyes.

  ‘Are you in charge of these yobs?’ the man said.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Miss Ellis said.

  Everyone’s attention was on the boys. Their attention was on each other, not on me.

  I whispered in Jess’s ear. ‘I’m going home, okay?’

  She turned. ‘What?’

  I thought Tipper’s eyes slid towards us, just for an instant, but when I looked, he was laughing with the others.

  ‘I don’t feel well. Tell Miss Ellis for me?’

  ‘Okay, but . . .’

  I doubled back into the Turbine hall and ran up the sloping floor, out into the biting wind. It blew off the river, whipped my hair across my face. I pulled my hood up and ran down the road, then realised no one else was running. I forced myself to walk, so hard to do when every instinct was screeching at me to hurry.