Dark Heart Forever (2 page)

My mother, who never fails to look on the dark side of life, grunted and began wrestling with the bin liner. ‘We need to prepare ourselves for the worst, is all I’m saying.’

‘What’s a curse?’ asked Dot, plunging a soldier into her boiled egg. I watched queasily as the yolk trickled on to the shell.

‘It’s made up, is what it is,’ I told her. ‘There are no such things as curses.’

‘Like what they say about magic?’ Dot stared, interested.

‘That doesn’t exist either,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘It’s what Grandma Jonas used to call
claptrap
.’ I looked up and met my mother’s eyes as she stood, one hand clutching a bag full of rubbish, in the doorway.

‘We need to talk about your education for the next few years, Jane,’ she said abruptly. ‘I can’t go on teaching you at home. I need to get a job.’

‘Fine. I’ll go to college.’ I drank the rest of my tea. ‘There’s one in Hassock. And it’s only five miles away.’ I smiled at Dot. ‘I can go by bike.’

‘No,’ said Mum quickly. ‘Not here.’

‘Boarding school.’ Dot poked my arm. ‘I told you, Jane.’

‘I’m too old,’ I said. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

Mum put down the rubbish. ‘Not boarding school. God knows we can’t afford that. But somewhere you can mix with girls your own age. It’s not healthy for you to be stuck up here all day.’ She sighed. ‘A fresh start. Right, Jack?’

My dad rubbed his forehead awkwardly. ‘I don’t know, Anna … is it really necessary?’ He looked over at me. ‘Your mother just wants you to be happy – after what those girls … I mean, a new school might help you forget.’

Mum tried smiling at me. ‘It’ll be good for you, Jane. You’ll make proper friends.’

I winced. ‘I don’t need to make friends. It’s my birthday and you’re spoiling it. I’m fine as I am.’

My parents exchanged a look that said
We’ll see
.

You won’t, I thought defiantly.

‘I’m going out for a bike ride,’ I said, scraping back my chair and walking to the back door. As I pulled my hair into an untidy ponytail my hand knocked against the scratch on my face.

‘Ow.’ I grabbed at the door handle, flustered.

‘Jane?’ called my mother.

‘I’m fine.’ I snapped. ‘Stop fussing.’

‘Wrap up warm, sweetheart,’ she said limply.

I ignored her and pulled my hood up.

‘Be back by twelve,’ she said. ‘We need to do Maths today.’

I stepped outside without answering, immediately regretting not taking a coat.

I don’t need change, I thought angrily as I wheeled my bike out of the shed. I don’t need friends. I closed my eyes, thinking of a year ago, when I had walked out of school for the last time. I’d had no friends, Sarah had seen to that. Queen Bee, Sarah Emerson, she who ruled the school and cast a poisonous spell over everyone in it.

‘You’re a freak, Jonas,’ she told me, over and over again. ‘You look like a boy. You dress like a tramp.’ For Sarah, who never wore the same thing twice, who learned the word ‘materialistic’ before ‘mama’, I was incomprehensible.

I took the rugged hill path down towards the town. It seemed right that my journey was uncomfortable, jolting over the stones as I curved down our piece of the mountain. After days of grey sky that had sealed us in, this morning it was a beautiful bright day. A day of escape. The crispness of the air pecked satisfyingly at my cheeks as I rode and I began to warm up as I pushed hard on the pedals. To my left was the wood, pines with a frosting of snow. It was dense and eerie, not somewhere you’d want to be at night.

I was there last night.

I shook my head, suddenly anxious, and found myself braking. I put one foot down on the ground and thought I heard someone call my name. Something in the trees. I swallowed and dropped my bike where it was. As the wheel spun behind me I trod through the gorse to take a closer look. I reached the outskirts of the wood and saw nothing. No one. I had turned away when I heard it again, a soft sound that could almost have been the wind. ‘
Jane
.’

‘Jane!’

I dropped my hand and jerked round. My sister was crouched down by my bike, spinning the wheel with one hand as she looked over at me.

‘You ran all this way?’ I asked her.

‘I want to come too,’ she said in a wheedling voice. ‘Mum and Dad are arguing again.’

‘Fine. But I’m taking the painful route,’ I told her.

Dot nodded furiously. ‘I don’t mind the stones,’ she said brightly. ‘It’s fun.’

‘Strange child.’ But I smiled at her all the same. As she struggled with getting the bike upright again I turned back to take one more look at the dense trees, listening.

Nothing.

‘What are you doing?’ Dot called, jigging from foot to foot. ‘Let’s go.’

I did a final examination of the trees before walking back to the path. Disappointed.

O
ur nearest town, Bale, was only a mile from the house, but Dot moaning in front of me meant it took forever. When we finally got on to the main street – what my mother called ‘civilisation’ – Dot’s bottom was aching.

‘Told you it was the painful route.’ I grinned at her. ‘Was that fun for you?’

Dot screwed up her nose and stuck her tongue out. ‘We need a milkshake,’ she said, looking hopefully down the street.

Bale was a bit like one of those towns you see in old Wild West films starring Clint Eastwood. Just one wide road, flanked by mismatched buildings. No supermarket. No fancy shops. Just the essentials. A local grocer’s, selling everything from needle and thread to caviar; a cobbler’s, a tiny junk shop – optimistically known as the Town Antiques Emporium – a tiny post office and a café: Fabio’s. It used to belong to an Italian family, who’d disappeared before I was born, but Eileen and her husband Greg had kept the name. It was a friendly, old-fashioned place, laid out like a diner. I’d been coming to Fabio’s since I was able to pronounce ‘vanilla chocolate’. I’d outgrown the milkshake now, but it was Dot’s favourite place in the world.

She rushed along the pavement towards it, leaving me locking up the bike by the defunct petrol station. As I straightened up again, a figure crossing the road caught my eye. Tall, checked shirt and long legs in dark blue jeans. He was about my age, maybe a little older, with a tanned face and sun-streaked, short, messy hair. Even from this distance I could see he was one of those intimidating, good-looking, alpha-male types, and we didn’t get many of those round here. I saw him glance my way and I sniffed, indifferently, and moved to follow Dot into the café.

I watched as the boy reached the entrance of Fabio’s at the same time as my sister and performed a comical bow, holding the door open for her. I heard her shriek, delighted, and slowed right down. Suddenly I wished I’d worn something less androgynous than my shabby old grey hoodie and ancient dungarees that were too short for me.

‘Do you have to dress like a ragamuffin, Jane?’ was my mother’s familiar refrain. ‘You’re a young woman, not a car mechanic.’

Just for today I conceded, she had a point.

I quickly unzipped my hoodie and tied it round my waist. As I passed the windows to get to the door and glimpsed my reflection I realised this was not an improvement. Irritated, I untied it and bunched it under one arm.

As I walked into the café I saw that Dot was already perched on a stool by the counter. The boy was sitting next to her, still making her laugh. I dug my purse out of my front pocket and stood at the other end of the counter.

Eileen sashayed over, beaming at me. ‘She’s already got her order in,’ she said, cocking her head in Dot’s direction. ‘And she’s got an admirer.’

‘Who is that boy?’ I asked casually, emptying my change on to the counter. ‘Never seen him before.’

‘Evan?’ She shrugged, then leaned closer to me. ‘He’s got family around here apparently – step-family, I think.’ She pursed her lips in concentration. ‘He was the one in the paper … you know. The boy who went missing in Australia – turned up on his dad’s doorstep. I can’t for the life of me think of his surname.’

‘I don’t remember that.’ I frowned.

Eileen shook her head. ‘You must walk round with a blindfold on and earplugs in,’ she said, with a smile. ‘That boy was the talk of the town a few weeks ago.’

‘Interesting,’ I said, sneaking a look over at him.

‘Very interesting,’ she said with a wink. ‘And a looker too.’

‘Hmm.’ I wrinkled my nose and pushed over seven pounds in coins. ‘Guess I’d better rescue him from Dot. She’s the clingy type.’

Eileen chuckled. ‘She’s adorable and you know it,’ she said, waving away the money. ‘Which is why you girls get your milkshakes on the house.’

‘Thanks, Eileen,’ I said gruffly. ‘I think I’ll have a coffee today.’

Even though I hate coffee.

‘Okey-dokey.’ Eileen winked at me. ‘Much more sophisticated.’

I blushed what must have been crimson pink and shuffled over to Dot and Evan.

‘This is Evan,’ announced Dot, as I approached. ‘He’s looking for some company. Evan, this is Jane.’

Evan turned, smiling. His eyes were incredibly blue. And though they were bright and friendly, there was something else there too. Something sharp, clever.

‘Hi Jane.’ His voice was deep, but quiet.

I nodded rudely, looking away quickly. Up close he was unnervingly beautiful. Every feature moulded to perfection. Practically inhuman.

We need to leave as soon as possible, I told myself. I couldn’t hold a conversation with anyone my own age, let alone this vision.

‘We haven’t got much time,’ I told Dot, who narrowed her eyes.

‘We’ve only just got here,’ she said, kicking her legs out and catching Evan’s knee with her boot. He smiled gracefully.

‘I’ve got Maths, remember?’ I picked up the menu, to occupy my awkward hands.

Dot threw a look over at the Beautiful One.

‘Jane is home-schooled,’ she told him matter-of-factly.

‘You don’t go to school?’ he asked, and I was forced to engage with him.

‘Yeah…No…I used to…’ His mouth tilted into a half-smile, puzzled. ‘But – it’s a long story.’ I looked at Dot, willing her to keep her mouth shut, and her eyes grew big. But Eileen was setting down a cup and saucer and Dot’s milkshake, and my sister swivelled round to pick it up, taking a long, noisy slurp through the straw. I rolled my eyes and caught Evan’s and then we were both smiling.

‘You can tell me all about your secret past another time, then,’ he said, studying my face. ‘You look like a girl with a story to tell.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘Nothing much goes on in my life.’

Unlike yours, I wanted to add. But didn’t. Because I am socially retarded.

‘Eileen said you had family here?’ I said instead.

Evan picked up a napkin from the box and started folding it. ‘Yep,’ he said. ‘My dad. Bill Forrest and his family. I was living with my mum in Australia for a long time.’

As I tried to think of who Bill was – the surname seemed familiar – Evan’s fingers were moving quickly and my eyes fell on what he was doing. Origami?

‘I’m staying with Dad over the summer – maybe longer,’ he went on, and he looked up at me through his eyelashes, ‘if I can find something to keep me busy.’ He dropped his head again to concentrate on folding quickly. All of a sudden, there in his hands was a white, tissue swan.

‘Cool!’ said Dot, pushing away her drink and grabbing hold of it.

‘Dot, don’t break it,’ I said quickly. I looked at Evan. ‘You realise you have to teach her how to do that now?’

‘Any time,’ he said, winking at my sister. ‘Told you I need to make myself useful.’

‘Can you do odd jobs?’ asked Dot, putting the swan in her pocket before scraping the last of her shake out of her glass with a long spoon. ‘My dad needs someone for odd jobs.’

‘No he doesn’t,’ I said. ‘When did he say that?’

She shook her head. ‘I heard him telling Mum.’ She poked Evan’s arm. ‘How old are you?’

‘Eighteen,’ said Evan. ‘Just.’

‘It’s Jane’s birthday today,’ Dot told him proudly. ‘She’s sixteen.’

‘Is that right?’ I noticed his taut cheekbones and his eyes flicker over me subtly as a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Sweet sixteen.’

Before I had a chance to colour up, Eileen called from across the room.

‘Sixteen already.’ She shook her head and put two clean cups back on the shelf above the coffee machine. ‘I’m getting old.’ She smiled at the three of us. ‘You’ve got yourself a little party at least. Happy birthday.’

‘Thanks, Eileen.’ I took a sip of my drink, feeling Evan’s eyes on me.

‘So,’ he said, adding some sugar to his coffee. ‘What’s the birthday girl doing to celebrate?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ I finally looked across at him. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘We’re playing Scrabble later,’ Dot said, fiddling with her straw. ‘And Mum will cook a special dinner.’

I nodded at Evan. ‘Sadly, she’s right. We don’t make a fuss in our house.’

‘What about your friends?’ Evan drank some coffee, not taking his eyes off me.