beats per minute (2 page)

His eyes softened and to her amazement he let out a bark of
laughter. ‘Ah.
You and me both.’
Bending his massive
bulk into the doorframe, he disappeared into the shop.

Minutes passed; the ice cream parlour was packed, and Raegan
wondered if she should have followed him in. Loitering awkwardly outside, she
leaned against the wall, trying to look like she belonged. But before long she
felt the unexpected weight of a pair of eyes on her; a pair of
feet slowing
down until they rested beside. Eventually she
dragged her gaze up.  An old man, his glasses reflecting the sun so that
it was almost impossible to see his eyes, stood before her. There was something
peculiar in his stare.

‘Hello, dear,’ he said in a surprisingly rich, plummy voice.
‘Is your grandfather inside?’

‘Yeah,’ she answered automatically,
then
caught herself. ‘I mean… well, Con is inside, if that’s who you-‘

‘It’s no surprise,’ the man smiled broadly. ‘He’s always had
a sweet tooth. Made you think he was going in there just for you, I’d wager!’

He winked and moved past her to the door.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ Raegan began, confused.
How did he know her name? She wasn’t featured in any of the photographs
littering Bridey and Con’s shelves.

The man stopped in his tracks, pressing a hand to his
forehead dramatically.
‘
Mea culpa!
I do
apologise – it’s old age, you see, Raegan.
Makes one lose all
sense of decorum.’
Enthusiastically, he clasped both her hand between
both of his. His palms, though warm, felt almost papery to the touch, the skin
was so thin and stretched with age.
‘Tristan Fettes.
Cathedral organist and local busybody – and believe me, there’s
nothing
that goes on that escapes my
notice.’

Satisfied with his introduction, he made off purposefully;
but on reaching the entrance to the parlour he changed his mind. Voice
deliberately measured, he turned to twinkle at her from the doorway. ‘What a treat
to see how you’ve grown, my dear. Of course your grandparents speak of little
else… and of course you
are
the very spit of your father, at least as I
remember him – after all, it has been a few years!’

Beaming, he swept inside with such a flourish that Raegan
half expected to see a cape billowing out behind him.

 The smile felt frozen on her face as she gazed at the
closed door.  The fact that her grandparents had talked about her was
weird enough. But how could it be that she’d not heard a whisper of her father
for ages and yet today he had already been mentioned twice? And what did
Tristan mean when he said it had been a ‘few years’ since he had seen her
father? Joseph O’Roarke died over a decade ago; in fact, it would be thirteen
years – give or take a few days - on her sixteenth birthday, which was just
around the corner.

Instantly the nagging feeling which had been bugging her
this morning returned; what Tristan Fettes had done to awaken
it,
and why his words had unsettled her so, she wasn’t quite
sure.

The vague notion that she might mention this to Con crumbled
the moment he returned. His face was impenetrable, the thick, unruly brows
drawn low over stormy eyes, and the fragile amicability which had sprung up
between them vanished. This only made her more curious: what could Tristan have
said to him? Raegan didn’t ask. Such was the force of his personality that she
felt a chill, the sun suddenly eclipsed by a dense cloud – which was in direct
contrast to the rapidly melting chocolate chip cone with a 99 flake thrust into
her hand.

***

Their next stop was the local jewellery shop. Licking
chocolate ice cream off her hands, Raegan passed under the delicate gold
signage spelling out ‘Vallence’ to follow Con through the rickety red door. It was
a dark, musty room: the old-fashioned shutters were drawn and dust from the air
drifted onto the walls. The counters, however, were gleaming; it was clear
where the beating heart of the establishment resided, nestled upon velvet
covers and sparkling seductively beneath the clear, beautifully polished glass.

Mr Vallence was not at the shop today and so his daughter,
Marie, hurried out to greet them. She wore a slightly guilty expression, and
Raegan understood why when she spotted the crumpled copy of
Heat
magazine
tucked under her arm. Marie’s exchange with Con, as he asked after her father,
was slightly breathless; Raegan couldn’t tell whether this was because she was
embarrassed to be caught skiving or just thrown by the arrival of this
barrel-chested man who appeared to be too big for the small shop. Her
grandfather seemed uncomfortable, but then trinkets probably weren’t his thing:
in fact, the thought of a medallion-wearing Con, dripping with bling, was so
crazy that Raegan almost laughed out loud. Fortunately she did not, for Con was
now pressing money into her hand and muttering instructions.

Raegan watched the door clang shut behind him, wondering how
she was supposed to know what to buy for a complete stranger. The unfamiliarity
of the situation, the strangeness of it, seemed suddenly overwhelming; and
longing for her mother bit into her so sharply it made her wince. Life without
her was all hurdles. Tying shoelaces, wrestling with her mad hair, picking
birthday presents… even the smallest things were a gargantuan effort.

The only bright spot was that she was getting a bit better
at it. With a breath, she mustered a smile up from the bottom of her boots and
turned to Marie, who was unlocking the glass on one of the cabinets.

‘Dad won’t be happy, but I think it’s easier this way. You
can pick stuff up, if you like. Get a feel for it.’ Marie eyed Raegan
curiously. Her gum made the occasional loud, smacking sound as she chewed. ‘I
didn’t know Mr O’Roarke had any grandkids.
You been here
long?’

Raegan studied the pretty woven bangles glinting against the
red velvet. After a moment, she answered, ‘Just a couple of months. This is my
first trip to St Jude’s in ages, though.’

‘You didn’t miss much, trust me.’ Marie sighed. ‘Nothing
ever happens here. You’re from London, yeah?
Mint.’

Raegan smiled shyly. At first she’d thought Marie was going
to be hard to talk to – with her hot-pink lipstick, straightened hair and
tanned skin, she was from another world - but she seemed friendly enough.
‘Yeah, it was cool.’

‘Clubs in London are easy to get into, like without ID,
aren’t they? Have you ever been to Whisky Mist?
Or
Chinawhite?’

‘Not for a while,’ Raegan said vaguely, not wanting to come
across like a freak by admitting that she had always been too scared of getting
knocked back to go to any clubs. ‘Have you?’

‘I wish!’ Marie’s voice took on a dreamy quality. ‘Just
think
,
you could have bumped into Robert Pattinson!
He’s been papped there loads.’

Raegan realised that Marie was looking at her expectantly.
‘Maybe… London’s pretty good for celeb-spotting.’ Not that she’d ever seen
anyone (well, unless you counted Dave Wellman from
Room for Improvement –
her
mother had been a huge fan of the show and had nearly exploded with excitement
when they’d spotted Dave at the supermarket - which Marie probably didn’t.).

Tuning back in, she caught the end of Marie’s ode to Robert
Pattinson, ‘He’s bloody lush. I’ve got all the
Twilight
films on DVD.
So, did you? See him? When you went to Whisky Mist?’

‘Erm… I don’t think so.’ Raegan
coughed,
eager to change the subject. ‘But, you know, actors always rock up at those
premieres in Leicester Square – sometimes you can get tickets…’

‘You’ve been to premieres?!’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean-‘

Marie shook her head enviously. ‘Wow. You must think it’s
well boring round here.’

‘No! I mean, I haven’t done much here yet, but it seems
alright.’

‘Alright!’
Marie scoffed. 
‘You must be joking.
Even the ‘rents get sick of it.
My dad is always moaning about the pub – you been in there? Trust me, you don’t
want to. It’s minging. The place hasn’t been redecorated since, like, the
1800s! They haven’t even got Sky, so Dad gets mad when the footie is on. Tell
yours to steer clear, if he’s into all that. Or actually-
‘
she
added, laughing, ‘even if he’s not!’

Raegan smiled, remembering the red and white scarf hanging
in her parents’ closet. ‘Well, Dad was a proper Man U fan, so he probably
wouldn’t have been impressed! But, well, he died when I was little. So…’

‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry.’ Marie’s hand flew to her lips. ‘I
didn’t know that.
God, me and my mouth!’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘But-
‘ the
words came faster and
faster, as if she was trying to puncture frantic holes in the sudden thickness
of the air. ‘But you and your mum, you must miss him. Must be so lonely, you
know… just the two of you…’

Just the two of you.

Don’t cry don’t cry please please don’t cry
. The plea
rushed through her and Raegan felt guilty for it, for caring what Marie
thought. But she couldn’t deal with that look, the look she had seen so many times
already and that was bound to cross Marie’s face at the sight of her tears.

‘Just me, actually.
Mum died.
This year.’
Breathing was painful, suddenly.

Marie was aghast.
‘How?’

‘Car accident.’

There was a pause, and then the scuffling sound of feet as
Marie stepped out from behind the counter. She hovered for a moment as if not
quite sure what to do.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, not meeting Raegan’s eyes. ‘I
mean, how do you even deal with that?’

Raegan didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Her
throat was suddenly made of sawdust.

The silence was thick, heavy. Marie had shuffled closer by
now, close enough to stretch out a sympathetic hand and touch Raegan’s arm; but
she seemed to think better of it, and played with the edge of the glass
instead.

And then she was speaking again, shrill explanations pouring
from her lips like a rush of air.

‘Just… I want you to know that I get it.
Kind
of.
I mean, I’m not saying I’ve been through the same thing as you.
Like, I still have my dad!
Though he was messed up for a
while.
After – it – happened.’
Her voice
caught. ‘We lost my mam. I was only ten.’

Despite her efforts not to cry, the lump in Raegan’s throat
was so huge that she couldn’t speak. Marie seemed to sense this. Silently, she
fell into position beside Raegan, so that both girls were leaning against the
counter, side by side,
not
looking at each other.
Though they were not touching there was a closeness that had not been there a
few minutes ago. It was a feeling Raegan had missed.

 ‘People treat you different,’ Marie said after a
moment.

‘Yeah.’

‘They just don’t get it.’

‘It’s just… it sucks.’

‘Totally.’
Their eyes met and
Raegan began to smile. She didn’t know why. 
Embarrassment,
maybe.
Marie grinned back.

Then, at exactly the same time, something shifted. The absurdity
of the situation seemed to dawn on both girls. And all at once the fact that
they found themselves standing there, as two almost complete strangers, in a
dusty, dark shop, in painful discussion about the most terrible thing that had
ever happened to either of them, but the best word they could come up with to
describe what they felt was ‘sucks’, well… suddenly it didn’t seem so awful.

In fact it was kind of funny.

They stood there smiling at each other, the comfortable
silence interrupted only by the faint pealing of bells from St Jude’s
cathedral. She could see Con’s silhouette against the door, and the thin spiral
of curling smoke from his cigar.

 ‘So, I should probably try and sell you something
now.’ Marie resumed position on the other side of the glass case with a rueful
shrug of the shoulders. This time the gap between them seemed a lot smaller.
‘See anything you like?’

In answer, Raegan reached for a delicately beaded bracelet
that had caught her eye. The topaz stones were almost fiery as she held the
piece up to the afternoon light. ‘This is lush.’

‘Yeah,’ Marie concurred, somewhat grudgingly.
‘Shame about the maker.’

Raegan looked at her quizzically. ‘You know him –slash-her?’

‘Him.
My ex,’ Marie sniffed, taking
the bracelet from her and placing it on the counter. It was only then that
Raegan noticed the turquoise necklace glinting at her throat. ‘And trust
me,
his head is big enough as it is.’

‘That bad, huh?
Does that mean
you’re gonna hold it against me if I buy this?’

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
‘Nah.
Just try not to wear it in front of me too much.’

‘Oh, it’s not for me, so no worries.’ Raegan grinned. ‘Can’t
make any promises for the birthday girl, though.’

‘Well, you could always tell her it’s too fancypants to
actually wear! She needs to like, keep it in a safe, locked away, or
something?’ Marie said playfully as she put the necklace in a box.

‘Hey, I don’t even know the girl. This is a favour for Con
and Bridey. So who knows – she might hate it!’

‘Fingers crossed.’

Present wrapped and paid for, the two girls smiled at each
other from their opposite sides of the counter. Raegan hesitated. She knew this
was her cue to leave but she didn’t want to go. Marie was the only person she’d
talked to in months who actually seemed to
get
it. It reminded Raegan
how much she missed her friends – how she missed the way it used to be, before
everything changed.