Beautiful Malice (13 page)

An angry hatred so powerful that I could taste it, sharp and bitter, rose up in my throat. I crouched down in the dirt and gripped a rock, clenched it in my hand so tightly that it dug into my skin. But I was glad for the hurt of it, glad for its painful sharpness.

I looked around desperately, for something, anything. I’m not sure what I was hoping to find, but my heart soared. Through the trees in the distance, I saw light.

I looked back toward Rachel, and just as I did, Sean lifted his head. He seemed to look straight at me. I don’t know whether he really saw me—I’ll never know. It was dark where I was standing, so perhaps he didn’t, but I didn’t wait around to find out. I panicked.

I turned and ran. Toward the light.

23

W
e ride down toward the harbor. Mick takes me to a pub where he says they serve good late-night food. We’re both starving, and we order huge meals—steak and potatoes and salad—and eat enthusiastically, grinning at each other across the table whenever our eyes meet.

When we’ve finished our dinner and our table is clear and we’re each sipping on a Coke, Mick kisses me. It’s surprising and unexpected and yet totally wonderful, all at once. He stands, leans across the table, and puts his lips against mine. It’s not a passionate kiss, his mouth remains closed, but it’s tender and soft and lasts much longer than a brotherly peck. It’s a kiss that makes everything more certain, a kiss that makes it clear that he’s as attracted to me as I am to him.

“Why did you scowl when you first met me?” I ask him. “I thought you must hate me. I thought you were horrible, actually. Unfriendly and rude.”

“Because I felt weird. When I first saw you. As soon as I saw you, I knew something was going to happen between us. I knew it. Right away.” He smiles—looks shy for the first time. “You made me nervous.”

We’re both jubilantly happy, both astonished by the unexpected delight of finding each other, and when we leave the pub and head back to his motorcycle, Mick asks me where I live.

“I don’t want to go home,” I say.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

We go to Mick’s place. He shares it with a student named Simon, who is out for the evening. We make tea and take our mugs to Mick’s bedroom. His bed is a mattress on the floor—but the duvet is pulled up tidily, the pillows arranged in a single pile at its head. Books are stacked against the wall; a guitar leans beside them.

We sit on his bed side by side, our backs against the pillows, legs crossed, knees touching. We talk about music, our favorite bands, our favorite songs. We drink sodas and share a chocolate bar from the near-empty fridge. At almost three a.m. Mick shuffles down the bed so that he rests on his side, facing me, his head on a pillow.

“Lie down, Katherine,” he says. “You must be getting tired.”

I wriggle lower so that we are next to each other, our faces close.

Mick touches my face with his fingertip, traces a line down my cheek, across my chin, down my neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

We kiss, pressing our bodies, our mouths, tight. And we fit together so well, so naturally, and soon we are breathless and tense with heat and need.

I pull away, suddenly full of a powerful and intrusive desire to talk, to tell my story. “I haven’t done this for … the last time I kissed a boy … the last time.” I pause, take a deep breath. “His name was Will. William Holloway. It was the night Rachel was murdered.”

Mick doesn’t move. Then he nods, waits.

“We didn’t do anything that night,” I say. And I remember Will’s face, how much I had loved him, how painful and awkward it was when I saw him afterward. “We were going to, though. We had great plans for losing our virginity together. But everything just turned to shit after that night. We were awfully uncomfortable around each other. I think we were embarrassed. Which seems a ridiculous thing to feel when someone’s been murdered. But we couldn’t even look at each other. He kept coming around to see me and he’d sit there, all stiff and unhappy, while I cried. Eventually I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. He was so relieved.” I laugh sourly. “You should have seen his face. He was trying to pretend to be sad that we’d broken up. But he couldn’t get out the door fast enough.”

“I guess it was a pretty heavy scene for a sixteen-year-old.”

“I didn’t really blame him. I was relieved, too. It was horrible having him feel so sorry for me. But he was too polite and kind just to dump me.”

“And since then?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Nobody.”

“Then I’m lucky.” He smiles. “But we can slow down. There’s no hurry. I can wait. I don’t want to pressure you.”

But I know what I want, and the idea of waiting any longer is so frustrating it only makes me more certain. I shake my head and smile shyly. I take his hand and place his arm around me, sliding forward so that our bodies are close and tight. I press my lips against his.

“K
atherine,” he says when we finish. We’re breathing each other’s air and are lying side by side, our noses almost touching.

“Mick,” I say.

“I love your name. It suits you perfectly. Katherine. Katherine. Katherine and Mick.”

And when he says my name like that, right next to his, everything is different. I’ve never really liked being called Katherine—all this time, despite what I’ve said, I’ve desperately missed being called Katie. I’ve missed
being
Katie.

But I’m no longer Katie, I’m Katherine—and tonight, for the first time ever, I don’t want to be anyone else.

24

Y
ou run and you run and you run. You run faster, harder than you’ve ever run before. You trip and stumble, fall hard on your hands and knees, scramble up immediately, continue running.

“Please, please,” you sob. “Help me. Please. Someone. Help.”

You are terrified that they are behind you, chasing you, getting closer with each step. Your own ragged breath is deafening in your ears, but you imagine you can hear them closing in on you, and so you run faster. You dare not turn around to check; you’re too terrified to do anything but run. Despite the pain in your sides, the ache in your legs, your fatigue, you force yourself on, force yourself not to slow down, not to turn around, not to collapse in a hysterical, helpless heap on the ground.

And as you get closer to the light, it becomes clear that it comes from a house, the miracle you’d hoped for. And as you get closer still, you see that the windows are open to the night breeze, the front-porch light is on, a car is parked in the driveway. Someone is home.

You run down the drive, fall onto the porch, pick yourself up, and run to the door. You pound and pound with your fists. You kick. You yell out.

After an eternity, the door opens. A woman stands there, framed by the light; she looks angry at your rude intrusion. But as she takes in your appearance, your obvious fear, her expression changes to one of alarm and concern. Her mouth drops open; she puts one hand on her chest, the other on your arm.

“What’s wrong?” she demands. “What’s happened?”

B
y the time the police arrive and organize a search, the four boys have gone. They’ve left her there, on her back in the dirt like an animal. One of the policemen reassures you that she looks peaceful, that the expression on her cold, dead face is serene and calm. It’s something, he says, something to help us hope that she didn’t really know what was happening.

She didn’t know that you left her there. Alone with them.

PART TWO

25

A
lice is already seated at a table in the café by the time I get there. She is sipping on a mug of coffee.

“Hey.” I sit opposite her. Smile.

Alice rolls her eyes. “I’ve been trying to call you all weekend. Why don’t you ever take your phone with you?” She is irritable, but she can’t do anything to change my mood. Nothing can. I’m far too happy.

“What was it? What did you want?” I say pleasantly, ignoring her temper. I don’t bother explaining what has happened, where I’ve been. I don’t say a word about Mick. It’s still so new, so lovely, and I want to keep it to myself.

“I just wanted to tell you. I’ve got this new man.” She leans forward, her face alight. Her anger of only a moment before is apparently forgotten.

My immediate thought is of Robbie. How devastated he’ll be.

“Oh.” I pick up the menu, stare blindly at the laminated cardboard. “Is it serious?”

“
‘Is it serious?’
God, you could sound a bit happier for me.”

I put the menu down and look at her. “I’m sorry. But what about Robbie? Does he even know about this yet? He’s going to be heartbroken. He really—”

“Robbie schmobbie,” she interrupts. “It’s not as if I ever promised him anything. Honest, Katherine. I never did. Never. In fact, I made it perfectly clear from the beginning that it wasn’t serious between us. He just made us up in his head. Anyway, Robbie will just have to deal with it. He has no choice. He doesn’t own me.”

“I guess not.” And I realize that this is probably the best outcome in the long term, anyway. In a way I can only feel glad, for Robbie’s sake. This will force him to face up to reality—Alice doesn’t care about him. It’s going to hurt, but he needs to forget her and find someone else—someone who appreciates how fantastic he is.

“So?” I say. “Who is he? What’s he like?”

“He’s gorgeous. He’s wonderful, beautiful, sexy. I’m in absolute heaven. I think about him every minute of the day.”

I smile. I know exactly how she feels. “What’s his name?”

But Alice doesn’t answer; instead, she lifts her mug to her lips, peers at me over the rim. “He’s older.”

“Older?”

“Yes. A lot older.”

“How much older?”

“Guess. Guess how old he is.”

“Thirty-five?”

“No. Older.”

“Forty?”

“Older.”

“Forty-five?”

“Older.”

I stare at her. “Are you joking?”

“Nope. Come on. You’re nearly there.”

“Fifty?”

“Forty-eight.”

“Shit, Alice. That’s huge. He’s ancient. Doesn’t it bother him? Does he know how old you are?”

Alice smiles. “Maybe he thinks I’m twenty-seven.”

“You’re lying to him?”

She shrugs. “Just stretching the truth a bit.”

“But he’s thirty years older than you. He’s
old
. Isn’t that weird?”

“No. No, it’s not. You’d be surprised. It’s great. He’s really smart, Katherine, and unbelievably knowledgeable. It’s as if I’ve been looking for an older man all this time, you know, it’s just a million times better. He’s just so much more mature, so much more confident and independent. And he doesn’t act like a lovesick puppy around me, which is such a relief.” She laughs. “And he’s just so good in bed, so experienced. He’s just so fucking unbelievably
skilled.”

I try hard to concentrate on the menu. I’m not very hungry—the excitement of being newly in love has ruined my appetite—but I don’t want Alice to sense my disapproval, how judgmental I am. Lately, whenever I’ve been around her, I’ve felt like an older sister, a disapproving and cranky older sister.

I’m not even sure why Alice’s new relationship should bother me. They’re both adults, after all. As long as nobody gets hurt, the age difference shouldn’t really matter. It’s just that with Alice, things are never as simple as they first seem.

“He’s not married, is he?” I say, and I can’t help it, I sound suspicious.

“No.” Alice pokes her tongue out. “He’s not. Bitch.”

“Sorry. Okay. He’s not married. That’s good.” And then I grin. “So what’s wrong with him? How did he get to be so old without getting married?”

“He
was
married. His wife died.”

“Oh, no. Really? How horrible.”

“I guess so.” Alice shrugs. “But not for me.”

The waitress comes to the table, and I order coffee and a sandwich. Alice orders more coffee.

“You’re not eating?” I ask.

“No. I’ve got no appetite.” She leans forward and presses her hand against mine, squeezes. “I think I’m in love, Katherine. I’ve never felt like this. Never. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’m overdosing on adrenaline. I can hardly even read a magazine, let alone Shakespeare. All I do is wait for him to call. It’s as if I’m only half alive when I’m not with him, in some kind of weird limbo land. You know, I honestly think he might be the true love of my life.”

And though I’m feeling almost exactly the same way about Mick, I’m surprised to find that I have no urge to confide in Alice, no desire to tell her about all the glorious new feelings pulsing through my veins, or how much things have changed since I last saw her. In fact, I’m shocked to realize that I want to keep the whole thing from her, keep it safe, hidden. Mine.

I smile and listen while she tells me everything—where they met, how they ended up together. But I tell her nothing about Mick. Nothing.

26

T
here are only twenty days to go before school ends. There’s no way I can concentrate on schoolwork when Mick and I are together, and so we both agree that the best thing is not to see each other in person at all. Just for twenty days. It seems reasonable at the time. Easy, even. But not seeing him is harder than I expected, and I miss him so much that I feel it like a physical pain.

I set myself up comfortably, all my books and papers around me, at my desk at home. Vivien is heading off on a monthlong business trip to Europe soon. But she’s home now, having a rare few weeks without any travel, and she takes care of all of the domestic stuff while I study. She cooks us delicious, healthy meals and insists on doing all the dishes so I’m free to study without interruption. I finish each day at about five and go for a walk to clear my head, then I eat dinner and go back to my room for a few more hours of work.

I’m usually too tired and brain-dead to study much past nine, and when I’ve showered and put my pajamas on I hop into bed and call Mick. I always feel slightly nervous before I call, afraid that I’ll interrupt him, that he’ll be annoyed or unfriendly or for some reason less than happy to hear from me. But every time I call he answers almost immediately with my name,
Katherine
, and he always sounds relieved, joyful, as if he has been looking forward to hearing my voice as much as I’ve been looking forward to hearing his.

He asks me each night what I’ve been working on, how I’m feeling, if I’m ready for finals. He tells me about his day, how his band practice went. If he has a gig that night he always sounds a little more upbeat, distracted. My favorite nights are the nights when he is at home, too, in bed, and we talk to each other for an hour or more. We talk until our voices grow soft and sleepy and his tender good night is the last thing I hear before I close my eyes.

On the afternoon of my last exam, history, he is there waiting for me when I walk out of the examination hall. I hadn’t expected him to be there, and I feel myself blush as I walk toward him. I feel instantly unattractive and girlish, and I’m acutely aware that some of the other students are staring at us. But Mick smiles, grabs my hand, pulls me close, and wraps his arms around me. And in Mick’s arms I am all at once indifferent to what other people think. I no longer give a damn what I look like. He loves me, and that is all that matters. We go straight back to Mick’s place, to his bedroom, and when he wraps his arms around me and kisses me, I am overcome. Lost.

Several hours later, when it has become dark and I’ve woken from a deep, contented sleep, Mick brings me a sandwich and watches me as I eat. I’m hungry and eat quickly, and when I’ve finished, Mick lies down beside me and makes love to me again. When we’ve finished, when we are lying side by side, face-to-face, I begin to cry.

“What is it?” Mick frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“This is too good. Too much. I’m
too
happy. It’s scary.”

He laughs, kisses me. “Don’t be dumb. You’re allowed to be happy, Katherine.”

“Am I? I’m not sure, sometimes I think …”

“No.” He shakes his head and kisses me again so that I can’t speak. His voice is urgent, almost panicked. “Shhhh. Don’t say anything. You’ll bring bad luck. You’re happy. I’m happy. It’s not too good to be true, people are happy all the time. It’s normal. It’s good. Don’t think about bad stuff. Just don’t.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.” And in the face of Mick’s superstitiousness, I keep my concerns to myself. I pretend to believe that I deserve happiness as much as anybody else.

I
go home to sleep that night because Vivien is leaving the next morning and I want to have breakfast with her and say good-bye.

“Did you have fun last night?” she says, tucking into the scrambled eggs I insisted on making.

“Yes. It was fantastic.” And there must be something in my voice, an extra note of happiness or excitement, because she looks at me quizzically, her eyebrows raised.

“That good, huh?”

“Yeah.” And I look down at my plate, hope my cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel. “Just so good to be finished with exams. So good to be free.” I don’t tell her about Mick. I can’t. I’m afraid that talking about it too soon may jinx it, may cause everything to unravel. And though I’m pretty sure she would never betray a confidence, I’m not ready for my parents to know.

“Remember to call your mom and dad while I’m gone. You’re looking much happier lately,” she says as she hugs me good-bye. “So much happier.”

“I guess I am,” I say.

Mick has a gig that night. His band is playing from ten until one at a bar nearby. We spend the day together at his place and he leaves for work at eight. I stay behind to have a shower and get dressed and wait for Philippa. She arrives at half past nine with Danni, a friend of hers from school. They’ve brought a bunch of flowers for me, a congratulatory gift for finishing my exams.

“Well done,” Philippa says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek, “for making it through all those years of torture.”

“No more high school,” I say. “Ever. It’s hard to believe.”

“So?” Danni asks. “How do you think you did?”

“Okay, I guess.” I shrug. “I’m just glad it’s all over.”

“I’ll bet Mick’s glad, too.” Philippa grins, elbowing me. “He’s pined for you like a lovesick puppy.”

Though Mick has already told me how much he missed me, hearing it from Philippa makes it seem even more real, more precious.

The band is already playing when we get there, and I sit at our table, a cold drink in my hands, and stare at Mick shamelessly. He is playing, concentrating, his face as intent and serious and closed as it was the first time I saw him. Danni and Philippa talk, try and involve me in the conversation, but I’m distracted, waiting for Mick to notice me. Danni and Philippa laugh. Philippa squeezes my leg; she is happy for me, happy for her brother.

Eventually he turns our way. He grins when he sees me, his enormous, transformative smile, and my heart pounds in my chest with grateful love. I want to rush onto the stage and kiss him, embrace him, hold him close. But it’s almost just as good watching him play, knowing that it’s me he’s thinking of, me that has made his face open up like that, me he will come to when he’s finished.

As the band is playing the final song of the first set, Mick keeps his eyes on mine, and as soon as it’s over he leaves the stage and comes to my table. He says hi to Philippa and Danni, reaches out for my hand, and drags me to the stage. He takes me to the back, where it’s dark.

He pushes me against the wall, presses his body against mine, puts his hand on the side of my head, buries his fingers in my hair.

“You came,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, and my voice is feather-soft, breathless with love and lust and incredulous joy.

“I missed you.” And I hear it in his voice, too, this mad happiness.

“Yes.” And there is little else to say, just yes.
Yes
.

And then his mouth is on mine, his tongue searching, his lips soft, the clean, sweet smell of his breath now familiar. And I can feel him against me, his desire, and I want him, too, and I lean toward him, showing him that I feel the same. And yet I feel no great sense of urgency for the night to be over. I’m going to appreciate it, every moment, enjoy the anticipation, savor the fact that we will be together later. That there is better yet to come.

And then a familiar song comes on the jukebox.

“Rachel used to listen to this.” I move back and laugh, rock my body in time with the beat. It’s an invigorating, happy song, impossible to ignore. “She loved it. She always used to dance to it.”

Mick takes my hand in his. “Come on, then.”

We go back onto the stage and jump down to the crowded dance floor. We dance, our hands clasped together tightly, moving in toward each other and away again. Our lips meet occasionally, and we taste each other, salty, sweet, our bodies pressed close. We separate and Mick twirls me around until I get dizzy and he has to hold me up while I laugh. We dance to song after song until we’re both hot and sweaty and our palms are sticky. But we don’t care, we don’t want to let go. Neither of us can stop smiling.

The music is loud, so I don’t hear my cell phone but I feel the vibration against my hip. A message. I ignore it, plan to check it later, but a few minutes later it’s buzzing again. I take the phone from my pocket, hold it up to show Mick. He kisses me. I go to the bathroom so that I’ll be able to hear the messages.

It’s Alice.

Katherine. Call me
. She sounds as if she might be crying.
Where are you? I can never find you lately. Please call me. Please. I really need to see you
.

I call her cell phone.

“Katherine. Thank God,” she answers.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

“No. Not really.”

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I’m bored. I’ve got nothing to do. My boyfriend is busy and can’t see me tonight.”

I roll my eyes. Only Alice could make boredom seem so urgent. And though I really don’t want to leave Mick, I say, “Do you want me to come over? Bring you some chocolate?”

“I don’t know what I want.” She sighs. “Where are you? It sounds funny. There’s an echo.”

“I’m out. At a bar. The William Hotel. I’m in the bathroom. The music’s too loud to hear anything.”

“Oh.” She is quiet again. And then: “Who are you with?”

“Philippa. And a girl named Danni. And Philippa’s brother.” I avoid saying Mick’s name. “But I can leave. I’ll come over to your place. I’ll bring something to help cheer you up.”

“No. No. I don’t want to ruin your night. I’ll come out. I’ll meet you there.”

“But it’s so noisy.” And as I’m speaking I realize how much I don’t want her to come. I want to keep Mick and Philippa, my new friendship, my new love, away from Alice. I’m afraid she’ll ruin everything, taint it somehow. “We won’t be able to talk.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “I don’t want to talk. I want to have some fun.”

I go back to the bar and sit at the table with Philippa and Danni. The band is back onstage, and Mick winks at me from behind his drums as I take my seat. Philippa and Danni, who are listening to the music and tapping their feet, both smile at me. I smile back. But I feel different now; my sense of elation has disappeared. The thought of Alice coming has made me feel tired and mildly anxious.

Alice is wearing the shortest dress I’ve ever seen. It’s sequined in silver and barely covers her underwear. She’s wearing boots that come up to her knees. She looks fantastic, sexy and stunning, and I notice heads turn as she makes her way to our table.

She pulls a chair right up next to mine. She doesn’t look at or acknowledge Philippa or Danni but immediately turns sideways so that she faces me.

“Hey,” she says, leaning close so that I can hear her. Her face is made up and glossy, beautiful. “This is a bit of dive, isn’t it? Let’s go somewhere else. Just you and me.”

Before I have the chance to answer her, Philippa leans over the table and nudges Alice.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” She has to shout to be heard over the band’s noise.

“Hi, Philippa.”

“This is Danni,” Philippa says.

“Hi,” Danni shouts. “God, I love your dress! And those boots! You look totally hot. Where do you get your clothes?”

Danni’s flattery obviously pleases Alice, because her body language changes instantly. She turns toward Danni and smiles. And as the two of them become engrossed in a conversation about clothes, Alice clearly forgets her desire to leave. She drags her chair over closer to Danni’s. Both of them are absorbed and animated. Philippa looks at me, rolls her eyes.

Alice and Danni spend the rest of the set talking. Philippa and I sit and listen to the music; we don’t talk, but we look at each other and smile every now and again. Philippa’s smile is full of sisterly pride.

When the set is over, Mick stands behind me, leans over, and kisses my neck.

“I’m just getting a drink,” he says. “Come with me, Katherine.”

He takes my hand as I stand up and push back my chair. I notice Alice look up at us curiously. She stops talking and stares, her eyes wide, as I turn away.

When we return to the table, Alice is leaning back in her chair; she has her arms folded across her chest. She is smiling.

“So? You and him?” She looks at me pointedly, ignoring Mick. “Philippa has been kind enough to fill me in.”

Alice is clearly upset and offended that I’ve kept this from her. I feel the color rising in my cheeks.

“Alice, this is Mick,” I say. “Mick, Alice.”

Mick smiles. “Hi.”

“You play the drums?” Alice asks him.

“Yep.”

“I love the drums, just
love
them. But I can’t actually comment on your performance. I didn’t even notice you up there before. Sorry. But nobody told me you knew Katherine. I didn’t even know you were Philippa’s brother.”

Mick doesn’t respond; instead, he looks at me, clearly wondering who this odd girl is, why she seems mildly hostile. He picks up his glass and takes a large gulp of his beer. He reaches out for my hand and stands, tugging me up with him. He pulls me to the dance floor.

He buries his face in my neck. We sway to the music, our bodies in rhythm. I breathe him in, let the smell of him, the feel of his body, the beat of the music, fill my senses.

We dance until Mick has to go back onstage for the final set. When I return, Alice has moved. She’s sitting at a table behind us with two men. She is animated—talking and gesturing energetically. Both men look charmed, captivated. They are both leaning toward her, vying for her attention. I’m amazed at how easily she can forget about her new boyfriend, the “true love of her life,” but I’m feeling far too happy to worry about Alice, and right now she just makes me smile. I try to catch her eye, but she doesn’t look my way, doesn’t notice me, she’s so preoccupied with her new conquests.

At closing time we all leave together. Alice has linked arms with the two men from the table. The three of them are walking ahead of us. Her voice is loud, happy. She turns around and looks back at me.