Mesmeris Read online

  Okay? His left eye was half-closed, the eyelid puffed up and red, like the cheekbone below it. A gash along his forehead stood proud, crusted with dried blood. But it was okay. It was more than okay.

  My eyes slid to Tipper as he rolled onto his front. He was up on all fours. He was going to kill Jack – and then he was going to kill me. But Jack saw him too. Tipper didn’t have time to straighten up before Jack caught him by the throat. Maybe I wasn’t going to die after all. Tipper grabbed at Jack’s collar. There was a sound of tearing fabric as they both fell to the ground.

  I dragged myself to my feet, stumbled towards the blur of flailing arms and legs.

  Tipper was on top. He punched Jack’s face so hard I heard something crack, pulled his fist back.

  No way. No way. I threw my arms around his neck, and yanked his head back. My feet slipped out from under me. My back slammed into the ground, knocked the air from my lungs, and my head filled with noise, buzzing, ringing.

  By the time my vision cleared, Jack was on top, one hand pressed down on Tipper’s throat. He pulled himself up until he was sitting across Tipper’s chest. I shuffled backwards, out of the way, watching, just in case. Tipper’s legs flailed. Jack punched him once, to the side of the head then dragged him to his feet, shoved him up against the wall and held him there, a couple of inches off the ground. Tipper gasped for air, his eyes bulging. Urine trickled down his leg, splashed onto the concrete. Not so brave now.

  ‘I’m going to tear your bollocks off, pal,’ Jack said, ‘and stuff them down your throat.’

  Yes – yes, good idea. Tipper squirmed, dangled there, and did I care? Did I hell.

  Jack looked at me. ‘Go outside, Pearl, okay, and wait for me.’

  ‘Outside?’ I shook my aching head. ‘They’re out there.’

  ‘They’re not. They’ve gone, I swear. Go outside and wait for me – and don’t look back. D’you hear me?’

  ‘They’re going to hurt my sister,’ I said. ‘We have to call the police.’

  ‘No – no police. I’ll deal with it.’ Jack looked from me to Tipper. ‘Anyway, don’t think he’s about to hurt anyone, do you?’

  ‘They’ve got people watching her.’

  He looked up at the sky, took a deep breath. ‘Then get his phone.’

  I couldn’t move.

  ‘Pearl. If you get his phone, he can’t tell anyone to hurt your sister, can he?’

  I struggled to my feet. It was difficult because it made my head ache. Once I was up though, the pain eased off. I inched towards Tipper and stretched out my hand, averting my eyes. I felt the fabric of his jeans, pushed my hand inside his pocket, retched.

  ‘Quickly,’ Jack said.

  Hard plastic. I closed my eyes, pulled the phone out, breathed through my mouth.

  ‘Go,’ Jack nodded at the lane.

  I made it out of the yard. Checked first, in case the others were there, waiting for me. Jack watched me all the way. He said he’d hear me if I called, if they came back to get me. My legs gave out and I sat on the wet ground. I cried then, great, heaving sobs – not of pain or fear or shock - but of relief. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, and each juddering sob hurt my chest and tore at my stomach.

  Then the screams came – harrowing cries, rising to shrieks of agony and, in between the shrieks, Tipper’s desperate, pleading whimpers and Jack’s voice - quiet, calm, reassuring – utterly chilling.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jack emerged a couple of minutes later, holding my grubby bag. He looked a mess. His shirt hung open, half the buttons gone, ripped at the shoulder. Blood trickled down his forehead from the newly re-opened cut.

  He squatted down next to me and picked me up in his arms, like a baby. He kissed my face, my cheeks, my eyes. He held my head to his chest and kissed my hair. ‘Are you okay?’

  I nodded. Shocked and dirty maybe, but nothing was broken and I was still alive.

  ‘Think you can walk?’

  ‘Think so.’

  Jack put me on my feet and steadied me with his arm. I felt woozier than I expected, as if we were on a gently rolling ship.

  ‘You don’t make things easy, do you?’ he said. ‘If his mate hadn’t seen me . . .’

  ‘Collins?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I went to the Tate. He’d run there to get help – showed me where you were.’

  ‘I tried to get to the tube,’ I said. ‘I got lost.’ And I tried to laugh but it caught in a sob.

  He pulled me close. ‘Bastards!’

  More tears welled up. I wiped them away, didn’t want him to see me cry.

  ‘We need to clean up,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should go back to the Tate.’

  ‘No!’ I imagined them all there, waiting for me, staring at me.

  ‘You know anywhere else?’

  I shook my head. We could hardly walk into a pub or restaurant looking like we did.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, ‘I promise – I won’t let anyone get to you.’

  I had to believe him, had no real choice. It took us only ten minutes to get there, even though I was slow. My search for the station had taken me almost full circle. Jack stood guard while I went into the toilets. I saw my reflection in the mirror - ugly – red, puffy eyes, half their normal size, surrounded by black mascara - red nose from crying, red patch on my cheekbone, on my forehead, hair all over the place. I brushed my hair, washed my face with handwash and practised a smile. The smile made my face crease up and then my eyes didn’t look so bad. No amount of washing seemed to be able to get rid of the black rings around them though.

  Jack was outside the door, just as he’d promised although he’d obviously been to clean himself up too. His shirt was pulled together, his face clean, hair combed over the scar on his forehead. He looked quite normal, except for the shirt. When I saw him, I did the smile I’d practised and he laughed and kissed my nose. ‘Funny girl,’ he said. He didn’t seem to mind that I was ugly.

  This time when we crossed the Millennium Bridge I had Jack’s arm around me and it felt different, safe, as if no one could hurt me.

  ‘We have to find Tipper’s fleas,’ Jack said.

  ‘Can we not?’ My insides squirmed at the thought of them. ‘I don’t want to see them.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You can sit in the car.’

  ‘You’ve got a car?’

  ‘How d’you think I got here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I didn’t . . .’

  His eyes flashed to something behind me.

  ‘No!’ I shouted, but he’d already gone. He ran across the road, dodging traffic, and chased Jenkins and Dim down the side of the cathedral. I ran after them but I was slow and didn’t get over the road for ages. By the time I reached the other side, Jack had gone. I ran into the gardens and stopped. A man in a smart suit, pink, pinstriped shirt, polished shoes, was sitting on one of the benches, eating sandwiches. I ran past him. Perhaps they’d run through, out of the gate the other side. Some Japanese girls stood on a plaque while a boy took a photo. Maybe the boys had gone another way or maybe in London nobody took any notice of people being chased. I couldn’t decide which way to go, then heard someone laugh to my left. I ran back. They were behind a bush, all three of them. Jack had his back to me. Dim and Jenkins had tried to hide beside a buttress. It was Jenkins who’d laughed.

  ‘We only ran ‘cos we thought you’d brought the cops,’ he said. ‘If we’d known, we’d have done you again – like we did this morning.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Jack said. ‘Why not have a go now then? There are two of you.’ He stepped back. ‘I know it’s not your usual four but come on.’

  Dim backed away, shook his head. ‘Leave it, Jenks.’

  ‘Jack.’ I moved closer to him. The bench where the man in the pink shirt had been sitting was empty. The Japanese people had gone too.

  ‘Go back, Pearl,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Jenkins said, cocky as ever. ‘Better stay a
nd look after him, Miller,’ he said. ‘You’re more of a fighter than he is. Hey, and when we’re done, we’ll carry on where we left off, eh, darlin’?’ He winked at me.

  Jack swung at him but Jenkins was too quick. He ducked out of the way and laughed and Jack lost his balance, just for a moment. And in that moment, that split second, I imagined him unconscious on the floor and Jenkins and Dim turning to me and smiling, imagined them pushing me against the wall, holding my arms, Jenkins giggling in my ear while . . .

  I didn’t even see Jack move. I only heard a crack, then saw Jenkins fall. The back of his head smacked against the wall and he slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

  Dim’s mouth hung open, a stupid look on his face.

  Jack held his hand out. ‘Give me the phone.’

  ‘Yeah – yeah.’ Dim’s hands trembled.

  ‘Let me help you with that.’ Jack shoved his hand into Dim’s trouser pocket.

  Dim screamed ‘Ah! Shit! Shit!’ He doubled over. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Come near Pearl again,’ Jack said, ‘and I’ll permanently remove them.’

  He handed me two phones, mine and Dim’s. They were warm and made me feel sick. He turned back to Jenkins. ‘Get up,’ he said, his voice calm and quiet, the same voice he’d used on Tipper. ‘Get up.’

  Jenkins eyes swam, unfocussed. He spat out blood and teeth.

  ‘Jack!’ I caught his arm.

  He shook me off. ‘Stand up, big man, so I can hit you.’ He grabbed Jenkins’s collar, dragged him to his feet.

  I moved between them. ‘Stop it. That’s enough.’

  Jack stared at me, eyes wide. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘He’s had enough.’

  ‘Enough?’ he said.

  ‘For God’s sake.’

  ‘What? You want to let him go?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s what the police are for.’

  ‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘And what d’you think he’d get - if they made it stick? Two weeks sweeping the streets, if you’re lucky. That what you want?’

  ‘You’re making me scared of you – is that what you want?’

  He stared at me for a long moment. ‘Okay.’ He let go of Jenkins. ‘Okay.’

  Jenkins slid down the wall, left a trail of blood on the creamy white stone. Jack knelt beside him, took the phone from Jenkins’s pocket and whispered something in his ear.

  ‘Jack!’ I pulled on his collar. ‘Leave him.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. Then he took my arm and led me away.

  I glanced back and saw Jenkins claw at the wall and slowly drag himself to his feet. Dim stared after us, made no attempt to help his so-called mate.

  ‘You would have stopped, wouldn’t you?’ I said. ‘You would’ve.’

  He put his arm around me, pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. He was strong. He could protect me from Tipper, from all of them. No one would ever be able to hurt me as long as I was with him. But instead of feeling safe, something rankled, plucked at my nerves. It wasn’t just the force Jack had used when he hit Jenkins, the speed of the punch. It was the look in his eye when he did it. He enjoyed it.

  ‘Where d’you learn to fight like that?’

  ‘Shouldn’t have done it in front of you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘Not now – and not here.’

  There was an explanation, then – an excuse. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it at all. It was probably anger I saw, not pleasure – anger at what they’d done to me. It was just him being protective and that was normal - wasn’t it?

  As we rounded St Paul’s, our whole group came into view. Abbi and Jess ran towards us, then stopped a few feet away.

  ‘Crap,’ Abbi said. ‘What’s happened to you now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I fell over.’

  ‘Fell over?’

  Jess hugged me. ‘You poor thing. Miss Ellis went mad when I told her you’d gone home. She is not happy with you.’

  ‘Well, I’m taking her home now,’ Jack said.

  ‘What’re you doing here anyway?’ Abbi looked from Jack to me and back again. ‘Have you two been fighting?’

  ‘Not with each other,’ Jack said.

  ‘I rang him,’ I said.

  ‘Thought you lost your phone.’ Jess said.

  ‘Found it. Look Jess . . .’

  ‘SIR,’ someone cried. ‘Sir, something’s happened to Jenkins, Sir.’

  Everyone dashed towards the cathedral. ‘Come on.’ Jack pulled me in the opposite direction and we ran, and as we ran, he laughed. So, I laughed too, felt insanely elated, even though this whole thing was anything but funny. We ran along the main road as sirens wailed behind us and I felt as if I was playing a part in a movie. None of it was real. It was all a game, a fantasy and it didn’t matter. Jack turned into a side street and we stopped. I bent over, held my knees to catch my breath. As my pulse returned to normal the urge to laugh disappeared. Jack, still breathing heavily, looked up and down the road then pointed towards a doorway. Unlike the others on the street, this one had marble steps leading to a solid wooden door, no glass. A board next to it displayed the names of various businesses, each with their own tarnished brass button.

  ‘Stay here,’ he said, ‘and I’ll get the car.’

  A wave of fear went through me at the thought of being without him.

  ‘I won’t be long.’ He kissed me gently on the lips. ‘You’ll be fine – promise.’

  Then he was gone. What the hell was I doing? Everything frightened me, even Jack, but being without him frightened me even more. I tucked myself as far back in the doorway as I could and looked out for the car. Perhaps I should run back to St Paul’s, go back on the coach with Abbi and Jess and Miss Ellis. Half of me wanted to go home, tell Mum and Dad all about it, have a cuddle, a bath and hot chocolate in front of the TV. But then there was Jack – and Jack won.

  I don’t know what kind of car I imagined he’d have but I wasn’t expecting anything like the silver sporty job with tinted windows that pulled up. I looked past it and waited. Only when the horn sounded did I realise it was him. I glanced up and down the road and dashed over to the car. He opened the door from inside.

  ‘Get in – quick.’

  ‘Wow!’ I sank into the leather seat and the door shut with a smooth, expensive click. ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘Uhuh,’ he said.

  It was spotless, no old receipts, sweet wrappers, no dust even on the floor. The dashboard gleamed, shiny and new. Jack leaned over into the back seat, where his coat lay, neatly folded. He retrieved a cardboard pack with a shirt inside – Ben Sherman, blue and white check. He fiddled with the seal.

  ‘Here.’ I took it from him, pulled the shirt out and unfolded it. Thick, linen fabric - classy. ‘D’you always carry a spare shirt, just in case?’

  ‘No.’ He laughed. ‘Picked it up on the way to the car.’ He pulled his dirty, torn shirt over his head. I stared at his bare chest, felt an overwhelming urge to lean over and smell his skin, kiss the bruises, the red marks where they’d punched and kicked him.

  He coughed.

  ‘Sorry.’ I dragged my eyes back to the shirt, felt for pins. There were none. I handed it to him, watched the fabric touch his skin, observed his long fingers do the buttons up. I looked away, couldn’t believe what the sight of his body was doing to mine. After everything that had just happened, how could I even think like that? When I looked back he was smiling.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Pretty hot, eh?’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself.’ I did my best to look unimpressed.

  His eyes crinkled, as he started the car and pulled out into the main road.

  I ran my hand over the spotless dashboard, opened the glove compartment - empty. ‘Is it new?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Wow!’ He had to
be loaded. There was only one way he could earn that kind of money at his age – and I didn’t want to think about that.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘where d’you want to go?’

  ‘Don’t mind.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘No.’

  He laughed. ‘Okay. I’ll surprise you then.’

  ‘Cool.’ I snuggled down into the seat, hardly daring to believe what I was doing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tiredness swamped me, dragged my heavy, gritty eyelids shut. Tipper’s face appeared from nowhere. I forced my eyes open.

  Raindrops spattered the windscreen. Jack fiddled with the controls, squirted water. ‘Damn it!’ He turned on the wipers, glanced at me. ‘Still getting used to it,’ he said.

  The motorway flew past – seventy, eighty, ninety miles an hour.

  ‘You okay?’ Jack said.

  ‘Fine.’ My voice sounded thick with tiredness.

  ‘Really?’

  I sat up, widened my eyes. ‘Yes – really – fine.’

  My mind sank into nothingness.

  When I woke, the car was stationary. Cold air hit my face as the door opened.

  Jack shook my shoulder. Pressed his lips against mine.

  I put my hand out, felt the back of his head but couldn’t open my eyes.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you some food.’

  I climbed out of the car and leaned against him, snuggled into his coat where it was warm and safe. His heart beat against my cheek, regular, strong, hypnotic. The wind whipped at my hair. It smelled of salt. Seagulls screeched overhead, competing with the crash and hiss of waves and the clatter of pebbles as they collided and tumbled over each other. I opened my eyes.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Brighton,’ he said. ‘I lived here for a while. I like the sea.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘I should’ve taken you home,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a shock.’

  ‘No.’ I tried to look alert, healthy, happy. ‘I need a cup of tea, that’s all.’ My eyes filled with tears. My bottom lip wobbled - such a fool, such a child.