Mesmeris (3 page)

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’

I saw something in his dark, dark blue eyes – something I liked, something I trusted.

‘Let’s go.’

A stained mattress half-covered a patch of burned ground. The air stank of burning plastic. The chemical fumes grew stronger as we walked until it began to give me a headache. To our left, three kids crouched over a small fire, their backs to us. The boys looked young, not much older than Lydia. My feet stumbled on the uneven ground as I tried to keep an eye on them, afraid they’d come after us. They didn’t look up though, not once.

‘What’s that smell?’

‘Which one?’

‘The sweet one – like burning plastic or something.’

‘Crack,’ he said, as if it was obvious. He probably thought I was an imbecile, not knowing that.

Blocks of ugly flats stood ahead of us, over the brow of the hill. Below them ran two rows of garages. I hoped Jack would turn back, but no, we walked straight towards them. I blundered along behind him, gripping his hand.

Crude graffiti covered the filthy garages. Rubbish and dead leaves piled up in every corner, the leaves incongruous somehow, in that God-forsaken place. There was no greenery of any sort there, not a single living thing except us. Not a sound, only an eerie stillness. I almost trod on a dead rat.

‘Stop,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I’m not going any further.’ I pointed at the rat at my feet and shuddered.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay here.’

He put his hand on the back of my neck, moved me back until I felt the garage behind me. I wanted to say I’d changed my mind, but knew he’d hate me, think I was a tease. I thought how Abbi would laugh if she saw me making such a big deal of it. She did this kind of thing all the time. They all did this kind of thing all the time. It was easy, Abbi said, meant nothing. And I liked him, didn’t I?

Something wasn’t right, though, and not just the less-than-romantic setting. It was him, his eyes. They were hooded, empty, like he’d taken something.

My heart beat too fast. It made me feel sick. He looked at my mouth, then at my eyes, then back at my mouth. He leaned towards me, his lips slightly open. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists at my side and held my breath. Nothing happened. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me.

Something like pity crossed his face. He turned away then spun back and punched the garage door, about a foot from my head. It made me jump, the violence in his face, the speed and power of the punch that left a dent in the metal. Then he walked off and stood with his back to me, two garages away. I’d led him on, acted like a prick-tease, but I didn’t know what to do. The sky was darkening by the second, the clouds heavy and dirty brown, and I wanted to go home.

A movement caught my eye, away to the right. Two figures strode out of the gloom, across the waste ground towards us. I recognised their coats.

‘Aren’t those your friends?’

Jack looked. ‘My brothers,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

I hesitated, but the angry scowl had gone. In fact, he looked quite happy. He leaned back against the garage, hands in his pockets, at ease as if he’d been there all day. Only his eyes looked wary as he watched them come. The nearer they got, the closer I moved to Jack, until I was standing right next to him.

‘Leo’s the one to watch.’ He barely moved his mouth.

‘Leo?’
The one to watch? What did that mean?

‘The one in the Parka,’ he said. ‘Art’s all right.’

‘And Leo’s not?’ I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Their long strides had an urgency to them, a purpose. They stared straight at me, not Jack. They didn’t smile and I thought that coming there had been a mistake – a big one.

Jack put his arm around my waist.

His brothers stopped dead.

Jack laughed. It sounded forced. ‘You frightened her, you idiots,’ he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him shake his head.

‘What?’ Leo turned away and aimed a vicious kick at an empty can. It slammed into the garage door. The crash reverberated through the metal, hurt my ears.

‘They won’t be happy,’ Art said.

‘Tough,’ Jack said. ‘I’m taking her home.’

Art shrugged. ‘Your funeral.’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Leo said.

Jack slapped him across the head. ‘Manners, Leo.’ He steered me past them, back the way we’d come. ‘Sorry. They’re acting like morons.’

‘Bloody scary morons,’ I said. ‘Were you meant to be going somewhere?’

‘Just a party. Don’t think it’d be your kind of thing.’ He squeezed my hand.

Something told me he was right.

We walked for a while in silence. As we reached the trees, Jack’s steps slowed. ‘Have they put you off?’ he said. ‘Seeing me again, I mean?’

‘No.’ I felt a flutter of excitement.

‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘I should never have taken you there. Sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not. You’re better than that.’ And there it was, that lovely smile. ‘Tell me something about you,’ he said, ‘about your family.’

‘There’s just me and my sister.’
He wanted to see me again
.

‘No parents?’

‘No, I mean we’re the only children.’ I laughed. ‘Of course I have parents.’

‘Of course.’ He looked away, into the trees. ‘Do you love them?’

‘Yes.’
What an odd thing to ask
.

‘And your sister?’

‘Sometimes,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I hate her.’

I laughed but he didn’t.

‘Must be nice,’ he said, ‘living with people you love.’ I sensed the sadness come over him, saw it in the downturn of his mouth, the way his eyes stayed fixed on his shoes, as though fascinated by them.

‘Don’t you love your family?’ I said.

‘No.’ Definite, absolute.

‘What about your parents?’

‘Don’t have any. They’re dead.’

‘Oh, God!’ I felt such an idiot. Why did I say 'of course I have parents', like it was a stupid question, like he was a dumbo to ask. I’d even laughed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ He quickened his pace.

I couldn’t think of anything to say except more ‘sorrys’. Everything I thought of sounded trite or patronising so I said nothing, just trotted alongside him.

By the time we came to the road again it was almost dark. I’d taken a risk and got away with it and, unbelievably, given the inane stuff I’d come out with, he still seemed to like me.

‘I have to go,’ Jack said when we reached my house. ‘I’m meeting Tipper.’

‘Keep away from him. He’s vicious - really.’

‘Shh . . .’ He put his finger on my lips, traced the line, and pushed the tip between them. I stopped breathing. He put his hands either side of my head and kissed me, crushed my lips with his. His stubble grazed my skin. I tasted mint and salt and then it was over.

‘You may’ve escaped this time,’ he said. ‘Next time, I may not let you off so lightly.’

As he disappeared around the corner, I smiled. Next time, he said.

There was going to be a next time.

CHAPTER FOUR

All was quiet when I opened the front door. Great! I could sit in my armchair and relive the kiss. No such luck. I pushed the living room door open to find Dad and Uncle Jim having a cup of tea.

‘Oh.’ Too late to back out without being rude, I went in.

Jim sat, as he always did, in Dad’s chair, where he had a clear view of the street, and anyone coming to the front door. Never off duty, always the detective, he liked, he said, to ‘keep an eye out’. What exactly he kept ‘an eye out’ for, he never said – random gangsters and drug dealers, no doubt, who might wander off the street into the vicarage by mistake.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Been busy after school, have we, Pearl?’

I felt myself flush, gave him my best sarcastic smile. It had no effect on his obvious enjoyment. If anything, it seemed to enhance it.

Dad handed me a cup of tea and I flopped into my favourite armchair, the one covered in gross, faded floral fabric. I tucked my knees up, hugged myself, and tried to block out Jim’s boring voice. Delicious shivers went through me as my tongue examined the inside of my crushed lips.

I caught Jim watching me, eyes narrowed, so decided to think about something else. My gaze roamed over the mishmash of chairs, tables, lamps, bookcases, cabinets, all jostled side by side in the cluttered room. Not one thing matched another. Dad called it an eclectic mix. Lydia and I called it ‘dead people’s furniture’.

Jim’s eyebrows wobbled as he talked and I thanked the Lord he wasn’t a blood relation. He had a sort of ginger thing on his upper lip that wasn’t quite a moustache but certainly wasn’t designer stubble. And his teeth - they were revolting, with greenish fuzz where they joined the gums – yuk!

He was waffling on about work as usual – not exactly riveting stuff. I managed to block his words almost completely so that only the occasional word registered. The name Howard Pitt stood out because I felt sorry for him, having such a pants surname.

‘Heard of him, Luke?’

Dad frowned. ‘Can’t say I . . .’

‘Call themselves Mesmeris. Heard of them?’

Dad shook his head. ‘Been a while since I . . .’

‘Load of nutters, if you ask me.’ Jim took a long slurp of tea. His lips quivered, slapped against the liquid as it went in. I clenched my teeth.

Dad caught my eye. He wanted to laugh. I could see it in his eyes but he was far too polite to do so. Jim liked to talk, and Dad was one of the few people he could safely confide in. Dad said listening was the least he could do. Jim had a difficult job and Jim was a good man. Good man maybe, but boring as hell.

‘Your area of expertise,’ Jim said.

That caught my attention. Dad’s area of expertise? As far as I knew, that consisted of visiting old biddies and waffling on about Jesus.

‘Told you that PhD would come in handy one day, didn’t I?’ Jim said.

PhD? Dad had never mentioned having a PhD in anything
.

Jim went on. ‘Rumour is they’re moving in around here. Nice of them to grace us with their presence, eh?’

Dad nodded, gave him a wan smile.

‘Just keep a look-out,’ Jim said. ‘Strangers, you know - odd-looking sorts. That boy you were with, Pearl.’ He fixed his nut-brown eyes on me. ‘Don’t think I’ve seen him before. New to the area, is he?’

‘Mmm,’ I stood up, not in the mood for one of his interrogations. ‘Better get on with my homework.’

‘Crikey,’ Jim said. ‘You’ve got ‘em well trained, Luke. Keen to do homework? How d’you manage it?’

‘Discipline.’ Dad hid his smile behind his mug, didn’t look at me. ‘Strict discipline.’

‘Good for you,’ Jim said.

My grin faded as I left the room to see Lydia banging down the stairs, trailing a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. She’d left her bedroom door open, so we all had the benefit of her crappy, boy band music. She stopped when she saw me, hand on the bannister.

‘Who’s the freaky guy?’ Her eyes glittered with mischief.

Just as I’d thought, her friends must have been on their phones to her like a shot. I didn’t mind. I liked it.

‘Don’t talk about your uncle like that,’ I said.

I thought it was funny but she just did a sarcastic, ‘Ha ha! Not him, stupid - the other one.’ She didn’t lower her voice at all.

No way was I letting her spoil my mood.

Her blonde curls bounced. ‘Is he the one Tipper’s gonna waste?’

‘What?’ Tipper was the last thing I wanted to think about.

‘Everyone’s talking about it. They say he’s gonna get him.’ She looked positively gleeful, asking for a slap.

The living room door still stood partly open so I put my face right against Lydia’s. On the second stair, she had the advantage. Not only could she look down on me but the stair rail between us prevented me giving her a sharp kick in the shins.

‘Shut it, Lydia.’ She hated her name, so I used it as an insult. ‘You don’t know anything.’ I couldn’t believe she’d managed to wind me up so quickly.

The more I tried to shush her, the louder her voice became. ‘I know you were in the pub,’ she said.

‘You,’ I said, ‘stink of fags so, if I were you, I’d shut your bloody mouth before I shut it for you.’

Dad and Jim emerged from the living room.

‘Having fun, girls?’ Jim said, his lip twitching, eyes amused. ‘Did I hear mention of a pub?’

‘No,’ Lydia and I both said.

‘Thought not – because you’d be under-age, wouldn’t you, Pearl?’

‘Yes, Uncle Jim.’

Dad looked a warning as he ushered Jim out of the front door.

‘Crap!’ Lydia said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why d’you think I told you to shut up?’

She shrugged. ‘Dunno. ‘Cos you’re a cow?’

‘Well!’ Dad said, as he came back inside. ‘That was a fine show, girls. Thank you for that.’

‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said.

‘Lydia,’ Dad said, annoyed, ‘turn that music down and shut your bedroom door, please.’

As she went up the stairs, she turned and stuck two fingers up at me.

‘Can’t you have her adopted?’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ Dad said.

‘Dad,’ Lydia popped her head over the bannisters. ‘I’m staying at Becca’s, okay?’

‘Fine.’ He turned to me. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Miracles do happen.’

Yes they did. It was a miracle Jack had picked me instead of Abbi. The memory of the kiss made my body feel weak, my brain fuzzy. I went to my room on the pretext of doing some work. Instead, I put some music on, lay on my bed and tried to re-live every second I’d spent with him.

When I first lay down, I was pretty certain he liked me. Then I remembered all the stupid things I’d said and came out in a sweat. By the time Dad shouted upstairs that dinner was ready, I’d convinced myself he’d never want to see me again.

Mum was working a late shift, so Dad and I ate in the kitchen. Despite the fact I’d eaten nothing at lunch, I still had no appetite but managed to force down a few mouthfuls.

‘No school this afternoon?’ Dad said.

‘Monday, Dad – study leave.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Study leave. That would explain the pub then.’

I didn’t answer.

‘And you met this boy in the pub?’

The phone rang at just the right time. Thank you, God, I thought.