Angel Kiss (18 page)

When I got back to the caravan Mum was crouched down, rooting through the cupboard.

‘I’m making pancakes,’ she said. ‘Want one?’

‘No, thanks,’ I answered. I took a deep breath.

‘Is there something up?’ she said, abandoning her search and standing up. She must have known there was something wrong as pancakes were a favourite of mine.

‘There’s something I have to tell you …’ The details all came pouring out: what I’d overheard in the shop and what Lydia had said. Mum’s eyes widened, and for a few seconds she said nothing. When she eventually spoke her reaction was pretty much the same as mine.

‘Why did nobody tell us this?’ she said, sitting down at the table and shaking her head in disbelief. She didn’t sound as angry as me – just really upset.

‘Not everybody thinks he did it,’ I said. ‘But Sergeant Reynolds seemed pretty sure he’s guilty. I think you should be careful, Mum.’

‘I will be,’ she answered. She went back to making pancakes and didn’t say anything else about it for the rest of the evening.

Candy floss – possibly one of the greatest foods in the world. A delightfully fluffy little cloud of sugar. Sticky and sweet and wonderful. Colin and I walked around the fête with two huge helpings of it, struggling to protect it from the crowds of people milling down the main street. The road had been closed to cars for the day and stalls now spanned its length, selling everything from handmade jewellery to chocolate-chip muffins. At one table you could get a henna tattoo and at another you could learn how a bodhrán is made. You could get your fortune told or your tealeaves read; you could buy a friendship bracelet or a patchwork quilt, a crystal to hang in your window or a framed photograph to put on your wall. The fête didn’t have one particular theme: it was a wonderful mish-mash of all kinds of different things.

Multicoloured bunting joined the buildings and helium heart and star-shaped balloons were tied to each stall, trying to break free into the overcast sky. Mary stood in the middle of the crowd, staring up at a grey cloud hovering overhead, with a look that said
Don’t you dare try to ruin my fête
. She really had done a super job in organizing this event, but there was nothing she could do about the weather. She whipped a black
walkie-talkie off her belt and spoke into it. ‘Check the rain cover for the generator. Over.’

A stage had been erected in front of the hall. Music was to be played there all day and a list of acts and times was written on a chalkboard beside the steps. Upcoming performances ranged from a string quartet to a gospel choir to a group of guys doing Metallica covers. The headliners were the highly respected Avarna Céilí Band, and I was really looking forward to seeing them. Right now a swing band was treating the crowd to a rendition of ‘I’m All Shook Up’. Huge speakers ensured they could be heard throughout the village.

To the left of the stage there was a mini fairground. Little kids lined up to go on the carousel, the swing boats moved to and fro to the beat of the music and little twinkling red lights illuminated the sign for the funhouse. There was a ghost train too, and as the train came out of the little tunnel I could see Emily and David sitting in it, squashed together and not looking frightened at all. And behind them were Nick and Simon, laughing loudly, hanging out of the side of the train. I still found myself as attracted to Nick as ever, even though I hated him for kissing that girl. I couldn’t help still wanting him.

‘Let’s go back to the stalls,’ I said, before Colin noticed them. I didn’t really want to be near Nick, even if I did still have feelings for him. We headed back down the road, and Colin’s eyes were drawn to the cake stand. We surveyed the éclairs and chocolate cakes and Colin decided to buy a caramel square.

‘So much for my diet,’ said Colin, mid chew.

‘Would you shut up? You’re so skinny,’ I said.

‘I’m two double cheeseburgers away from full-on love handles.’

I breathed in all the different smells – corn on the cob, crêpes, hotdogs, but didn’t eat anything. My stomach was unsettled, just like it had been during those strange incidents in the forest and in the Cupcake Café. This time I wasn’t frightened though. I felt strange, but weirdly calm at the same time. There was an edge to this sickening feeling that was almost addictive. I welcomed it. It meant she was back.

I looked for any signs, any clues that I could add to the collection I already had. Colin wanted to find Jane too, but he wasn’t thinking about her now. He wanted to help her, but he could just as easily have forgotten about her. For me she was a continual concern.

People flocked to the centre of the village – locals and tourists, former residents and relatives of current ones. Sarah walked past us in a stunning pink dress, and didn’t even look in our direction. I thought it was more out of embarrassment than bitchiness though. She had hardly spoken a word to anyone in the group since the break-up. She looked pretty miserable. I still reckoned she would win the Miss Avarna title. Her flawless skin, brown eyes and tiny frame meant she already looked like a celebrity. The judges would adore her.

‘Let’s check this out,’ I said, pointing at the table with a banner that read guessing stall. Rita Clancy was sitting behind the table, on which stood a glass jar full of marbles, a giant ball of wool and a porcelain doll.

‘Are you going to have a go?’ she asked me. ‘You have to guess how many marbles there are –’ she pointed to the jar – ‘how long that is –’ she pointed to the blue ball of wool – ‘and what this little lady’s name is.’ She pointed to the porcelain doll. ‘Write down your name and phone number too so I can phone
you if you win.’ She handed me a pencil and a slip of paper. I wrote down:

I picked up the doll to have a closer look. It had curly black hair and wore a frilly peach-coloured dress and a beige coat with two gold buttons. She was a bit scary, with glassy green eyes that looked straight at me.

I scribbled down the word
Jane
and gave my guesses to Rita. She popped them in a cardboard box along with the other entries.

The Miss Avarna contestants were huddled round the stage, preparing to learn their fate in less than half an hour. They wore huge smiles, some genuine, some blatantly fake.

‘She cannot get away with that,’ said Colin, pointing to a girl in an unflatteringly clingy dress. ‘And that does nothing for her,’ he added, pointing to an ill-fitting halter dress.

‘Shhh!’ I said. ‘They’ll hear you.’

I followed Colin under the balloon arch into the fairground. We waved to Chris, who was working there for the day. He was helping a little kid out of a bumper car and looked totally bored.

‘Let’s queue for that,’ Colin suggested, pointing to the carousel where there was still a long line of children waiting.

‘What’s over there?’ I asked, having spotted the sign that read foto fun. Colin trailed after me as we pushed through the crowd.

‘It’s a photo booth!’ I said.

It had a red velvet curtain and for four euro it promised a variety of fun photo options. You could get a tropical paradise background, your head in an astronaut uniform, or feature in your very own movie poster.

‘You can see what you’d look like as a Manga character!’ said Colin, pulling back the curtain and sitting on the swivel seat with the cracked leather cover. He chose the Manga option and posed.

‘Deadly!’ he said, when the screen showed him with big eyes, a pointed chin and a thin nose. He put the money in and clicked print.

‘You go,’ he said.

My Manga character looked a lot like me, but with a triangular face, accentuated eyebrows and small blood-red lips.

‘I should do a painting of these,’ said Colin.

‘Let’s get one of the two of us together,’ I said, rooting in my purse for change. The seat was barely big enough for one so I sat on Colin’s knee.

‘I’m not in it,’ said Colin. ‘Scooch down.’

‘You are in it. I’m not – you move,’ I said with a giggle.

‘You totally have more screen space than me.’

‘Right, smile!’

Colin playfully pushed me out of the booth and waited for the photos to come out. There we were, Colin and I, our faces squished together, me sporting the biggest smile ever, Colin sticking his tongue out. But there was something strange about it because hovering above our heads, just over us, was the outline of a blurred face. A blurred face with long black hair.

Colin nearly dropped the photo.

‘What is that?’ he said. ‘What background did I press?’

‘It’s OK. It’s her,’ I said. She was back. She was definitely here.

Before Colin could react he heard someone call his name.

‘Colin!’ shouted Mary Reynolds. ‘Just the person I was looking for.’

‘Me?’ Colin’s voice was shaky.

‘Yes, Bob was meant to be judging the art show, but he’s sick. Would you mind filling in for him? It’s just this way.’

Before Colin could protest, Mary was pulling him in the direction of the art tent, and I was left there, still looking at the photograph. I could tell that Colin was freaked out, but I wasn’t scared. I just wanted to help her. As the ink dried, her face started to fade, and soon all that was left was a light grey mark above our heads, so light that you would hardly even notice it.

The second-hand bookstall had lots of good stuff. I got a copy of Slash’s autobiography for only three euro and I bought a thriller for Mum. I was sorry she was missing the fête; it was a lot of fun. But she’d said she just wasn’t in the mood for it and didn’t want to risk running into Des after what I’d told her.

Mary Reynolds’s voice echoed from the speakers. ‘The Miss Avarna Presentation will take place in ten minutes.’ There were a few excited gasps from the huddle of contestants. Colin was still in the art tent, so I went over to see how he was doing.

The children’s art competition entries were tacked up on a white board that spanned the width of the tent. I scanned the assortment of juvenile doodles and paintings.

‘Right,’ said Colin. ‘I have to pick a first, second and third. Oh, and two highly commended ones.’ He showed me the little
bunch of rosettes. I didn’t envy his job. I’d never been very good at art. I could appreciate it, but I had no idea how to judge it. There were drawings of horses and sheep and houses and flowers and one that looked like it might be a spaceship.

The tent was eerily silent. Paper and crayons and pencils were strewn across the white tables. I spotted a picture of a black bicycle. It stood out from the sheep and the horses and the maybe spaceship. Colin must have thought so too, because he pinned the ‘1st prize’ rosette on it. I counted ten pictures of horses. Colin gave second place to the one whose head was in proportion to its body. He gave third prize to a painting of a golden Labrador.

‘I’m tempted to give highly commended to this one,’ said Colin, pointing to a picture that was composed of a simple black squiggle.

‘Maybe not,’ I said.

‘Jacki, this kid could be the next Kandinsky.’

‘I don’t think it would go down too well with the parents,’ I pointed out.

‘Yeah, Mary would kill me.’ He gave the last two rosettes to a painting of a little cottage and a collage of a bowl of fruit.

We sat down at the kiddie-sized tables and I started to doodle on one of the blank pages with a crayon. The tent began to fill up with little kids. Most of them were too young to even understand the concept of a competition. One child came over to the table and started to chew on a crayon. I hoped he wasn’t going to choke on it.

Suddenly a little girl’s scream echoed through the tent. ‘Maaaaam! I got FIRST!’

‘You’ve got a great little artist there,’ said Colin to her mother.

The little girl had light blonde hair that fell down her back and when she turned round to face her mother, with her finger still pointing straight at the rosette, I recognized her immediately.

We headed back out to the stage to catch the result of the pageant. Sarah had won. Her acceptance speech was short and not too boring; she must have rehearsed it, yet she made it seem as if she was so shocked to win. Shortly afterwards Rita phoned me to tell me I’d won the doll! I was delighted – it’s always exciting to win something. By six o’clock the stalls were packing up, and everyone was getting ready for the performance by the Avarna Céilí Band. Colin had persuaded Emily to go on the carousel with him and I sat on the steps of the funhouse. I held the doll in my hands. The name Jane seemed to suit her. I used to find porcelain dolls a little creepy when I was younger … the way their eyes stared … But this one felt different. She had gentle green eyes, black hair and wore a pretty peach dress.

It began to drizzle, so I put the doll into my patchwork bag and went inside to shelter.

Typical funfair music played in the background as I walked around inside the funhouse. I seemed to be the only person there. There was no sound except for the music. It looped over and over, the whole thing consisting of just eight bars. It wrecked my head. The funhouse was divided into rooms, and
you moved from one to the next through circular doorways. The first room was full of distorted mirrors. In the first mirror I was tall and leggy, towering over my actual self, and in the second mirror I was twice my width and half my height, my head crushed down into my body, so I had no neck. And in the next one half my face bulged out, as if a giant bump had swelled up on my forehead. I wished Colin was with me; we would have had a great laugh.

The next room was a pit of multicoloured balls, and I had to drag my feet through them to get out. In the room after that there were different-coloured revolving circles on the floor. The funhouse was quite dark, the walls illuminated by twinkling gold lights. It had an eerie quality and I wondered if Jane would appear. It was dark and claustrophobic, like the forest and the back of the café. It made sense that she’d pick here. If she came back, I’d try to get a closer look at her … find out what she looked like. Maybe this was what she wanted … Maybe this was where I was supposed to end up. I took a step back and whispered. ‘I’m listening.’