The Kiera Hudson Prequels 2 (9 page)

The door opened onto a sprawling kitchen. I could have fitted my poky flat into it ten times over. Everywhere I looked there were gleaming work surfaces, appliances, sinks, taps, tables, and chairs. It all looked too new, like none of it had ever been touched. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that if anything ever got the slightest scratch it was replaced at once. It was hard to believe that a single meal had ever been cooked here. The kitchen looked like something from a showroom.

“
Does anyone ever cook in here?” I asked.

“
Sure,” he smiled back at me. “My parents have a cleaner, but my mum cleans before the cleaner arrives. Says she doesn’t want the place looking untidy for when the cleaner turns up. My mother says it gives the wrong impression.”

“
So what’s the point in hiring a cleaner?” I smiled back.

“
Beats the shit out of me,” he grinned. “Would you like some tea?”

I glanced down at my watch. It was nearly half past one in the morning. I was tired and cold. Even though, I said, “Okay that will be nice.”

Tom filled a kettle that looked as if it had just been taken out of its box. I sat at the long wooden kitchen table and watched him as he prepared our drinks.

“
Are you hungry?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder at me. “I could make some cheese on toast or…”

“
No, I’m fine,” I said with a shake of my head. I got the feeling that Tom was trying to make conversation – idle chit-chat to fill the silences that fell between us.

“
Tom, is everything okay?” I asked him.

“
Yeah,” he said without looking back at me, splashing milk into the steaming cups of tea. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

“
You haven’t been the same since we left that picnic area,” I said. “Since you threw away that waitress’s number. Why didn’t you keep it? I thought you liked her…”

“
I didn’t like her,” Tom cut in, placing the cup of tea he made for me down onto the table. I placed my hands around the cup to warm them. “What I mean is, I didn’t like her the way you think I
liked
her.”

“
Oh,” I said, taking a sip of my tea. “I didn’t mean to…”

“
I know you didn’t,” he said, stirring his tea with a small silver spoon. I watched Tom from over the rim of my cup and couldn’t help but think he was on the verge of blurting something out but couldn’t quite find the right words. He looked at me, then away again, down at his tea.

Then guessing I knew what was wrong, I said, “Tom, you know I wouldn’t have minded you calling that girl. I wouldn’t have got jealous or anything. I know we’ve spent a lot of time together recently, but I just think of you as a good friend. You don’t have to worry, it’s not as if I’ve got the hots for you or anything. It was kind of you to think of my feelings though.” I knew deep down that part of what I said was a lie. My feelings for Tom did run deeper than purely friendship, but I could never tell him that. I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of letting him know that perhaps my feelings were changing the more time I spent with him, when he thought of me as just his friend. So I buried those feelings deep and the little pang of jealously I suspected I would have felt if he had kept that waitress’s number.

“
Just friends then?” Tom said, looking at me and I couldn’t help but think his smile was forced somehow.

“
Just friends,” I smiled back, taking another sip of my tea.

“
Good,” he whispered and looked away.

Tom

Just friends wasn’t what I wanted to hear Kiera say, but at least I knew how she felt about me. It saved me from spilling my guts to her only to end up looking like a complete and utter jerk. My stomach knotted like I’d been punched as I heard her say those words, and I had to look away. I couldn’t meet her stare. I knew Kiera saw a lot and I didn’t want her to see how suddenly crushed I felt knowing that there would never be anything more than just friendship between us. But that was good, right? At least we were friends. Friends stayed friends forever. Maybe if something more had developed between me and Kiera, and it had all gone wrong at some future point, then the chances are that we would have lost our friendship too. But what if things had worked out between us? I pushed that thought away. There was little point in torturing myself.

“
I don’t know about you,” I said, pouring the dregs of my tea into the sink and washing them away, “but I think I’ll go to bed. I’m whipped.” All I really wanted to do was bury my head beneath my pillow.

“
Sure,” Kiera said, pushing her chair back from the table. “Where should I sleep?”

With me!
Stop it, Tom, I told myself and bit my tongue. “There are plenty of spare rooms,” I said instead, leading Kiera from the kitchen.

She picked up her case from where she had left it by the front door and followed me upstairs. I switched on lights as we went. At the top of the stairs I led Kiera along the landing, stopping outside the door of one of the spare rooms.

“
You’ll find everything you need inside,” I said, looking at her. “There is an Ensuite bathroom and shower, fresh towels… and… if there is anything else that I haven’t thought of then I’m right next door.”

“
Thanks,” Kiera said, pushing open the door to the spare bedroom. She glanced inside then back at me.

I looked back into her bright hazel eyes that were framed with long black lashes. On tiptoe, Kiera suddenly lent forward and kissed me softly on the cheek. “Goodnight, Tom,” she said, stepping into the room, closing the door and leaving me alone on the landing.

With a smile of happiness – or perhaps it was regret – I went to my room, closing the door behind me.

Kiera

I woke and at first I had that horrible feeling of disorientation that you get when you wake to find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Remembering that I was at Tom’s parents’ house, I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes against the bright sunlight that poured through the large windows into my room. The huge bed had been so soft I couldn’t even remember falling asleep the night before. With my eyes shut tight, all I could remember was saying goodnight to Tom and closing the door behind me. Opening one eye, I glanced at my wrist watch that I must have taken off and placed on small nest of drawers next to the bed. It had gone eleven and I’d slept most of the morning away. I stretched, wriggling my toes beneath the sheets. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I went to the bathroom. From below I could hear the sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen and music playing. After showering and dressing in jeans and a sweater, I left my room and headed downstairs. I crossed the large hallway and went into the kitchen. Tom was cooking scrambled eggs. The kitchen smelt of toast.

“
I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” Tom smiled, piling a mound of scrambled eggs onto two slices of buttered toast.

“
Have you been awake long?” I asked, taking a seat at the table and pouring myself a cup of tea from the pot.

“
Long enough to take a five mile run, shower, and cook you breakfast,” he said, placing a plate on the table.

The eggs looked light and fluffy on the toast.

“
You haven’t been for a five mile run, you liar,” I teased him, sprinkling pepper onto the eggs.

“
Okay, two miles,” he laughed, sitting across the table from me and watching me eat. “But it’s still further than you’ve run this morning.”

“
I was so tired,” I said, starting to eat my breakfast. Tom was back to his bright and confident self. Whatever the problem had been last night, it had obviously passed. I guessed he had just been tired like me.

“
So what do you fancy doing today?” he asked.

“
What is there to do around here?” I asked, looking out of one of the many kitchen windows at the acres of fields. “It looks pretty remote around here.”

“
It is,” Tom smiled. “Why do you think I always try and avoid coming back? I thought that perhaps we could test each other for our next police exam and this evening we could go and see Derren Splitfoot.”

“
Who’s Derren Splitfoot?” I asked around a mouthful of toast.

“
He’s a medium,” Tom said.

“
Like a psychic?”

“
I guess,” Tom shrugged.

“
I didn’t know you believed in that kind of stuff?” I asked, surprised by his suggestion.

“
I don’t,” Tom said, with a shrug. “But this guy comes once or twice a year to the local pub and holds a séance. Usually it’s full of old ladies wanting to make a connection with their dead husbands, that sort of thing. But he’s meant to be like really good. Some lady my mother knows went to one of his séances and she was really freaked out by it.”

“
Why?” I asked, my interest in this Mr. Splitfoot growing.

“
Well, all these psychics are meant to have some kind of spirit guide, like a Red Indian or something” Tom started to explain. “Anyway, this Derren Splitfoot’s spirit guide is meant to be some young girl. Apparently when he gets going, you can hear this girl talking. Some even claim to have seen her.”

“
It has to be some kind of an illusion,” I said.

“
Exactly,” Tom beamed. “But no one has ever been able to figure out how this Splitfoot guy does it. Until tonight that is.”

“
What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

Tom pushed a copy of the local newspaper across the table at me. “See, this Derren Splitfoot, is holding a séance tonight and you’re going to figure out how he tricks people into believing they can hear and see this dead girl.”

“
Now hang on a minute…” I started, raising my hands.

“
Go on, Kiera, it will be fun,” Tom beamed, that sparkle back in his eyes. “It will be fun trying to figure it out. Besides, this guy is nothing more than a conman. He’s got to be. After all, there are no such things as ghosts.”

I looked at him across the table, a grin stretched right across his face. It was the first time I had seen him truly smile since throwing away that waitress’s phone number. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I said, “Okay, I’ll go with you. But if we do figure out how this guy Splitfoot is conjuring up this dead girl’s voice – spirit – whatever you want to call it, we keep it to ourselves. A lot of people believe in this stuff. It brings some people a lot of comfort.”

“
Okay, okay,” Tom said, springing up from his chair. “You can help me make a cake.”

“
Cake?” I frowned. “I thought we were going to revise for our police exams.”

“
We can do that while we bake,” Tom said, rubbing his hands together with glee.

“
Why do we need to bake a cake?” I asked.

“
Everyone who attends the séance has to take a treat along for the little girl…” Tom started to explain.

“
What? The freaking ghost?” I tried not to laugh.

“
Yeah, I know, sounds crazy, right?” Tom chuckled. “But this Mr. Splitfoot reckons that the more sweets and treats that are brought the more likely his spirit guide – this dead girl – will come through. She must have had a real sweet tooth when she was alive.”

“
Either that, or Mr. Splitfoot owns a sweetshop,” I said. “So the cake is instead of payment?”

“
No, you have to buy a ticket as well as taking along sweets and cake,” Tom said.

“
How much are the tickets?” I asked.

“
Twenty pounds each,” Tom said.

“
Twenty pounds!” I cried.

“
I told you he was a conman,” Tom said.

“
And I guess you want me to pay for you, too?” I asked, knowing that he was skint.