I, Spy? (21 page)

I started to get dressed in something pretty, but then I remembered about my bruises and scratches and realised with a sinking heart that I’d have to cover up. I found a flimsy little cardigan in the back of my wardrobe and teamed it up with jeans and a strappy top. At least my hair was clean and being reasonably well behaved. And I could wear lipstick, if not eye make-up, because the bruise on my temple had broken to a cut and it hurt to touch that side of my face too much.

I locked up with my new keys, set bits of tape on the door, and drove into town.

Funky Joe’s was an American bar and pretty much the only decent place to drink in town. Mostly it was full of airport workers who went in at odd hours and paid no attention to weekday protocols. I spied a few people I knew on my way in. It was surprisingly full.

And then I heard a burst of sound, and realised why. Sunday was Live Band Nite. And this Sunday, Chalker’s band was playing.

I stood for a while, trying to remember if my parents were supposed to be coming to the gig. I didn’t think so, but then you never knew. I saw more and more people I knew, school friends, people who lived in the village, other mates of the band. The same people I saw at every gig. Plus airport people. The place was packed with people who knew me.

And I had a massive bruise on my face. And one handcuffed wrist.

Marvellous.

I saw Sven by the bar, getting chatted up by the waitress, and stood for a while, taking in the beauty of the scene. This handsome man, glowing and gleaming like a golden god (can I alliterate, or what?) was waiting for me. Had asked me out.

He saw me and waved. “Sophie!” he cried over the sound of the music. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” I said.

He touched my face and I shied away, wincing. “What happened?”

“Oh, I, er, I walked into a door. The flu. It made me dizzy.”

He nodded sympathetically and handed me a pint of lager. I hate lager, but since the last time we all came out for a drink and I switched from halves of cider to pints, because it took so long to get served, I’ve been known as the Girl Who Drinks Pints. And I guess cider does look like lager from a distance.

We found a table by a banquette, empty because the band was invisible from there, and smiled at each other for a few minutes.

“Do you like the band?” Sven asked after a while, seeing me mumbling along with the words.

“My brother’s the bassist.” He looked confused. “The bass guitar? With four strings? He plays that.”

Sven looked impressed. “Oh, cool. So you know them all?”

“Went to school with them. They’re pretty cool.”

This is my practised speech for when the band get famous and I get interviewed as the gorgeous younger sister of the cool bassist. “Yeah, they’re all really cool. Always in and out of the house, coming to see Chalker or just chill. We get on really well. We’re like family.”

Convincing? Cool? I think so.

The set ended and the band disappeared from the stage, reappearing in seconds at the bar. I saw Tom, waiting for a pint that was bigger than him, and flicked a beer mat at him.

He turned, saw me and bounded over.

“Soph! Thought you were ill.”

I blinked. “Who told you that?” I hadn’t spoken to my family in days.

“Chalker. Ran into that fit mate of yours, erm, Angel, in town. She said you’d got flu.” He scrutinised me. “You don’t look like you’ve got flu.”

“I’m a genius with make-up.”

“What happened to your face? Get in a fight?”

“Yeah. You should see the other guy.”

We smiled at each other. Tom’s like the little brother I never wanted.

“And who’s this?” He looked Sven over and didn’t seem impressed.

“Sven. We work together. Sven, this is Tom. He’s the singer in the band,” I added, realising a bit late that it was rather unnecessary.

“I like your music,” Sven said politely. “What are your influences?”

Tom looked blank. “Pretty much whatever I’m listening to,” he said.

“You sound like this Norwegian band I know, called Eek! They’re a rock band…”

I tuned out. Eek! didn’t sound like anything I wanted to hear about. And from Tom’s expression, he felt the same way.

I let my gaze roam over the room. Kids I did my A levels with. Kids who borrowed my GCSE notes. Kids who I played hopscotch with at primary school. Kids who peed their pants at playschool. It felt like I knew everyone in the bar. Including…

Oh, Jesus. Oh, bloody hell.

“Can you excuse me a minute?” I said, and Tom gave me a murderous look. I ignored him and slipped away across the room, to where a man with green eyes was propping up the bar and glaring at me.

“I got your note,” he said. “Very funny.”

I bit my lip. I’d torn out a page from my diary and scrawled, “Shame I wasn’t in
The Great Escape
,” and added a winker.

I said
winker
. Like an emoticon? Don’t be filthy.

“Oh, come on, Luke.” I nudged him. “It was a little bit funny.”

“I thought you’d been kidnapped. Again.”

I put my head on one side. “How long were you in the flat before you saw the note?”

He scowled and didn’t answer. I grinned.

“You were worried about me.”

“You’re a liability. I should fire you.”

“For escaping from a securely locked flat? You should promote me.”

Luke stared moodily at the empty stage.

“Anyway,” I said, “what are you doing here?”

“Following you.”

“Why?”

“Thought I’d get into the mindset. Trouble follows you all the time.”

“You think of that all by yourself?”

He said nothing.

“How did you know I was here? I didn’t see you following.” I’d been careful to check my rear-view all the time. I was like driving school fresh.

“No, well, you wouldn’t, because I was three cars behind all the time. Your car is like a sore thumb in fit finger land.”

It was my turn to scowl. “Ted’s a great car.”

“And I still can’t believe you named it.”

“So I have an emotional attachment to my car.”

“Is that wise?” Luke sipped at his pint. Proper dark beer, not lager.

Show off.

“Anyway,” he went on, “what are you doing out here with Sven the Stuffy?”

“He’s not stuffy.”

“He’s really boring. He has no conversation.”

“Not with you. And he is speaking a second language.”

“I can sparkle in several languages—”

“One of which is obviously not English.” I glanced at Luke. Green had been an appropriate choice of eyewear. “If you must know, he asked me out.”

“You’re on a date?” Luke asked incredulously.

“It’s not illegal, is it?” It probably was. Section 12, paragraph 16: Government Agents shall not date cute Norwegians. That would pretty much be my luck.

“You do have work to do.”

“I have been Googling all afternoon. I found something on Wright but it wasn’t very interesting. Just that he said in November he wanted to buy up an airline. I ’mailed it to you.”

“Did you find anything on Harvard?”

“You mean Harvey?” I teased. “I still don’t think it’s him. I mean, I don’t think Harvey is Harvard.”

“I think he is. You’ve seen how he tends to turn up a lot. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

I made a face. “I tried all those numbers. They’ve never heard of him.”

“Then isn’t that suspicious?”

“Maybe he just wants to protect his privacy.”

“Yeah. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

I sighed and looked around. Sven was alone, apparently having failed to convince Tom on the merits of Eek!

“I should get back,” I said.

“Try to sound happier about it.”

What did he expect? “My head hurts. You keep trashing my friends—”

“Harvard is
not
your friend.”

“I got another finger.”

Luke sighed. “What’d you do with it?”

“Freezer. And by the way, who gave you permission to break in and have my locks changed?”

I may have said that a little loudly. People were giving Luke looks of disgust.

“I was trying to keep you out.”

“You failed.” I gave him a brittle smile. “Are you going to follow me home?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll see you then.”

As I walked away, Luke called out, “Did he notice your hair?”

I ignored him and walked back over to Sven, whose face lit up. “Who were you talking to?”

“Old friend. Mate of the band.” How could he not see that Luke was Luca? It was blindingly obvious.

“He didn’t look happy to see you.”

“Hmm. Yeah. We used to go out.”

“But you finished with him?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Then he must be sad. I would be.” Sven gave me a puppy-dog look, and I smiled. He was really sweet.

The band started up again, and I turned to listen. Tom was singing “Don’t Listen To Him”, which is an old one of theirs and one of my favourites. He kept looking over at me.

How sweet! He knows I love this song. Everyone was being very sweet to me today.

Apart from Luke, that is. He was watching me and scowling. I raised my glass in salute and tried not to grimace at the lager.

Sven put his arm around my shoulders and I snuggled up to him, giving Luke a smug look. But Luke wasn’t listening. He was talking on his phone.

Hmph.

They finished the song, and Tom looked around the room.

“How is everybody?”

There was a babble of noise as people yelled stuff back.

“Yeah, the same to you. Good to see so many old faces…and so many new ones…” He looked over at me again. I’d brought a new face. I beamed back at him. “Don’t nobody go nowhere.”

The next song started, and Sven stood up. “Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”

So polite. Most of the Ace boys would be like, “I’m going for a slash. Back in five.” Not Sven. He’s so polite.

Even if he is a little boring.

But politeness is important. We can’t all be entertainers.

Luke loped over. “Got rid of him?”

“He’s gone to the bathroom.”

“Let’s hope he locks himself in, eh?” He waved his phone. “Just got a call from Lexy. James Harvard checked into the airport Hilton half an hour ago.”

Alexa had access to hotel records? Put paid to any ideas of a dirty weekend.

Although, if it was with Sven, it’d be worth it to piss Luke off.

“So what does that mean?” I asked. “Is Wright there too?”

“No.” Luke frowned. “But that means we can check out his room easier.”

“We?”

“Yes. We. I need you to get in there.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know, you did it before. Play your cards right, you might even get to sleep with him this time.”

I slapped him for that, and it felt
good
.

Luke put his hand up to his face, and slowly brought it back down again, his eyes on mine. I was partly horrified to see a handprint appearing there. And partly proud.

“So now we match,” he said, touching my cheek, and I flinched.

“You’re such an arsehole.”

“Says she, going out with someone who doesn’t even ask her what she wants to drink.”

I opened my mouth, but Luke got there first.

“You’ve hardly touched it. I saw your face when you drank some. You hate lager.”

I said nothing, but my face felt tight and my nostrils flared.

“Come on, Sophie, we have to go.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“What about Sven?”

“Leave him a note. Isn’t that your style?”

I nearly slapped him again for that. “Two things, Luke. Fuck. Off.”

“You’re funny.”

“I’ve hardly slept in two days. I had to break out of your flat two days in a row, and I got another finger yesterday. There’s probably another one on its way right now. I have a bruise on my face and a big headache—” to my horror I felt my eyes start to sting, “—so just piss off and stop bloody following me.”

Unfortunately at that moment the song ended and Tom stopped singing and everyone heard the last bit I said. I glared somewhat tearfully at Luke.

“I think we should leave,” he said quietly, and I nodded.

“Just let me say goodbye to Sven.”

Luke looked at his watch. “How long has he been gone?”

“Since you came over.”

“Too long.”

“Maybe there’s a queue.”

Luke gave me a look.

“Maybe he’s ill.”

“We can only hope.”

“Do you want me to slap you again?”

“That’s such a girlie thing to do.”

“I am a girl!”

“Can we just go?”

I folded my arms. “No.”

“I could carry you out of here.”

“Not unless you want me to beat the snot out of you. I will, you know,” I added when Luke started laughing. “Look, can you just go and see where he is?”

“You want me to go and tell your boyfriend you’re leaving with me?” Luke put his head on one side. “Okay.”

“You’re such an arsehole,” I said again.

“I don’t have to tell him.”

“You do if you want me to go with you.”

Luke sauntered off, grinning.

The band hadn’t started the next song yet and I looked up at the stage to see what was taking so long. Tom was missing. Probably gone for another pint. He said his voice needs lubrication. He’d yet to come up with an excuse for the cigarettes.

And then Tom was beside me, grabbing my arm. I winced as his fingers dug into a bruise.

“Why aren’t you singing?”

“I tried to get your attention earlier but you were all snuggly with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—what did you want?”

Tom lifted up Sven’s drink. “He put something in this. I saw him drop it in. Like a pill or something.”

“But that’s his drink…”

“No,” Tom grinned, and picked up my untouched pint, “this is his drink. I switched them when he wasn’t looking.”

I stared.

“Is he on drugs or something?” Tom asked.

“Sven? No, no, he’s…he’s Norwegian…” I said vaguely. “Just a sec.” I needed to find Luke. “Keep an eye on these for me. Don’t switch them or drink anything.”

“I’m not stupid,” Tom said, fiddling with his lip ring.

I dashed over to the toilets and saw Luke coming out of the gents.