beats per minute (20 page)

Sam tilted his head quizzically. ‘Oh. She was fine earlier.’

‘Yeah, you know- women’s stuff.’ Raegan cringed inwardly. It
was the one excuse guaranteed to gross out the males of planet Earth, but it
was a cheap trick.

Sure enough, Sam backed off pretty quickly after that. ‘Say
no more.
Will leave you to it.’
He handed over her
backpack. Their fingers touched, and she leapt away, as if the contact meant
that he could read between the lies.

‘Thanks. See you, then.’ Head down, she scooted off. Sam got
under her skin; around him, she felt off-centre, nervous, full of energy. It
was a lot to handle. Was that the real motivation for her lame excuse?

It wasn’t a total lie, Raegan reminded herself. She
did
want to see Bree. Now, more than ever, she was in need of her friend’s cool
wisdom and down to earth attitude about all things Regent. If anyone could set
her mind at ease about the locking-in class, it was Bree.

She charged up the corridor to her friend’s room and knocked
impatiently. As if in reply the door flew open quickly and with some ferocity.

The first thing that struck Raegan – hardly an eco-warrior –
was how much energy was being wasted in the small room, which appeared to have
all lights on, loud country music blaring out, and the heating turned up full
blast. The second striking thing was that Bree was not standing before her.

Instead she was confronted by a diminutive blonde wearing
not nearly enough clothing. That explained the heat.

Raegan hesitated.

The girl put a hand on her rounded hip, just covered by a
pair of denim hotpants. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

For a moment, Raegan wondered if she’d managed to knock on
the wrong door. ‘I’m looking for Bree.’

‘What?’ the girl raised her voice over the thrumming of
banjos behind her. A voice had begun to wail plaintively.

‘Can you turn that down?’ Raegan felt as though the drums
were beating against her skull.

The girl merely stared her down for a moment. Then the door
slammed in Raegan’s face.

Things were going from bad to worse. Staring at the beige
painted surface, Raegan willed herself to be calm and try again. This time she
congratulated herself on the decency of her knock. The sound was crisp;
professional. It said: ‘please answer the door.’ It did not say: ‘open the
fricking door or I will kick it in’, which is what she, in truth, was leaning
towards.

After a brief pause, the door slid open.

She barely even looked at Raegan this time. Instead, voice
dripping with boredom, she remarked, ‘oh, you again,’ turned her back, and went
inside. Fortunately, she left the door open behind her.

Raegan followed, fuming. The girl didn’t even look up. She
flopped on the bed with her legs in the air. Every now and then she reached
into a bag of strawberry laces or turned the page of the glossy magazine in
front of her.

The music was quieter, at least. This didn’t help Raegan’s
mood much. The heat, combined with Bree’s penchant for green velvet, made her
feel as if she was trapped inside some dense jungle.  She was tired. She
was also beginning to sweat. And there in the middle of the jungle was a little
wild-cat, sunning herself.

She marched over to the stereo and shut it off.

‘Hey!’ The girl looked up, annoyed. ‘What do you think
you’re doing?’

‘Give me a break,’ Raegan said irritably. ‘I don’t have
time. Where’s Bree?’

The girl pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘Who wants
to know?’

Raegan stood her ground. ‘Who are you to be asking?’

She raised an eyebrow imperiously. ‘I’m Adriana.
Bree’s girlfriend.’

If Raegan was surprised, she did not betray this by the
merest flicker.
‘Right.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Adriana shot back, aggressively.
‘Her girlfriend.
Get it?’

‘I could not care less,’ Raegan snapped. ‘I’m hardly here
for a booty call.’

Adriana rolled her eyes, her southern American accent
deepening. ‘Oh, please. Y’all did not just come up in here and say ‘booty’. You
can’t pull that off.’

Snickering, Adriana rolled back onto her stomach. Her minute
crop top rode up to expose even more tanned, toned flesh, but she was totally
unselfconscious. As if to emphasise that fact, she looked over her shoulder,
smiling unpleasantly.

‘You can stand there staring at my behind all you want,
honey. That’s the closest you’re going to get to either of us.’

Raegan’s mouth dropped open; the nerve of this girl had her
brains scrambling and her fists clenching. She needed to get out of here.

‘Just tell Bree I was looking for her, okay?’ As she said
it, she knew it was pointless; and so she slammed the door loudly enough not to
hear Adriana’s reply – if she even bothered to make one.

It was ten o’clock and the moon was bright over the green
islands of the British Isles. Lights were flickering all over as, in the
cities, nightclubs and bars came to life and restaurants spilled happy, full
customers out onto the bustling pavements, while in the suburbs, men, women and
children began to wind down after a hard day of work and play.

In St Jude’s, there was barely a glow coming from any
window. Even the street-lamps seemed tired, their haze
a
muted
, faded amber, casting a soft eye over the unusually littered
pavements. The odd bit of bunting still waved in the wind. It had been a busy
day for the little town; a day for celebration, the one day each year in which
the village came together to feast and toast their patron saint.

By this time, there were only three St Jude’s residences in
which the lamps still burned – and none more brightly than at 12 Briar Walk.
The glare beaming from the windows of the cottage was as white-hot as the rage
felt by its chief resident. Tristan Fettes was in a very bad mood. The evening
had not gone to plan; he had been looking forward to a nice, long bath -
scented, of course; he always tipped a good measure of a perfume mixed
specially by Penhaligon’s of London into the water – and then an early night.
Instead he was sat at his desk, old troubles nagging at him. Life was very
tiring at present. With a delicate sigh, he picked up the telephone.

***

The iron door clanged back with such force that it nearly
came off the hinges. The emptiness of the workshop echoed with the sound of a
raised, male voice, but Raegan barely noticed, furious eyes searching for her
friend like a missile seeking its target. Once she spotted him, such was her
self-preoccupation that Raegan failed to even notice Jasper was on the
telephone until the shriek of indignation was halfway out of her mouth.

‘You wouldn’t believe-‘

Fortunately, but rather unnervingly, Jasper appeared to be
in a state of high agitation himself. Yelling fiercely into the receiver, his
neck and face stained with ugly blotches of maroon, Raegan’s arrival did not
impact on his consciousness.

She stopped abruptly. To stand here, not saying anything,
made it feel like she was spying on him; but then how could she interrupt what
was clearly a private conversation?

The vitriol in Jasper’s voice cut through her hesitation
like a knife.
‘The Trace?
What bloody business is that
of yours- you interfering, selfish old-?’

The words went completely over Raegan’s head; all she could
hear was the emotion in his voice. This was a side of Jasper she had never seen
before.

Leave now, before he noticed. With the thought came a kind
of relief, like a large door marked ‘Exit’ materialising in front of her. Her
body jerked into action. The clumsy squeak of her trainers against the cold
stone coincided with Jasper’s next interjection.

 ‘I won’t do it!’

The words cut off too quickly and suddenly Raegan could feel
his eyes fall on her. An image of his shocked face formed in her mind even
before she turned to face him.

The reality was worse. He gawped at her, mouth opening and
closing like a fish. The colour drained from his face, though the red streaks
remained, as if his skin had been slashed viciously. The telephone dangled
uselessly by his side.

Raegan felt terrible. She also felt out of her depth. Jasper
had become such a close friend, so quickly. He was always ready to hear her
moans, offering shy, thoughtful advice over a cuppa – provided she kept a
certain distance. He didn’t like to talk about himself. Her barrelling in here
had removed this option with all the sensitivity of a bulldozer.

 She held her hands out in front of her like an
apology; but he met this with a violent shake of the head. The urgency of the
movement stopped her in her tracks.

 When she was motionless, he seemed to gather himself.
He spoke into the telephone once more. ‘I have to go.’ There was no trace of
the former passion in his voice. Raegan wondered if she had imagined it. ‘We
will talk again soon. G’bye.’

The table between them was like a barrier. Jasper stared
fixedly at the wooden surface.

‘I’m sorry,’ Raegan said nervously, after a minute passed
and Jasper still hadn’t looked up. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in.’

When he replied his voice was scratchy. ‘How long were
you... standing there?’

 ‘I didn’t hear anything, promise! I came to tell you
something and well, I was a bit upset, so I came in without knocking. I saw you
were busy straight away-’ slight fib ‘-so I was just leaving when you, ah, saw
me.’

He didn’t say anything. Raegan pulled on a strand of her
hair anxiously, wondering what to do. She didn’t want to keep talking if it was
annoying him - but then she didn’t want to leave if he was upset.

Her heart won. ‘Are you okay?’

This time the response was swift. ‘I don’t want to talk
about it.’

Another wrong move.
Clearly she had
upset him and her hanging around was just upsetting him more.

She had only gone a few steps when he spoke again.

‘A brew would be nice, though.’

Surprised, she turned back to see that Jasper had come out
from behind the table and was now able to meet her eyes. He was even smiling.

‘Well?’ He said gruffly, hands in pockets. ‘You know where
everything is.’

She couldn’t help the silly grin that spread across her
face; but she didn’t want to ruin it by talking. Lips firmly pressed together,
she raced over to the kettle.

** *

In a kitchen on Ramsey Island, another kettle whistled. The
scalding water was ready to be poured onto the casserole dishes waiting in the
sink.

Con and Bridey O’Roarke had enjoyed a late supper. Two mugs
of cocoa cooled as Con leant on the counter, his massive form hunched around
the telephone receiver he held to his ear; Bridey, meanwhile, was poring over
some dusty photo albums. A stack of loose photos sat on the table beside; it
was unclear whether these were to be inserted or had been discarded. Her
attention was focused on the images within the leaves, in which two faces
seemed to crop up more than others. She flipped past several of a handsome
masculine visage to rest, finally, on a young girl with a freckled, open face
and long, red hair. She could have been no more than six or seven years old,
and her gap-toothed grin beamed out of the photo as brightly as a shooting
star. At that moment, Con’s phone call finished, and he came to stand behind
his wife. She caressed the girl’s face, and looked up at Con, and then toward
the phone; but he shook his head. They turned back to the album.

***

There is a lot to be said for filling awkward silences with
the sounds of industry. As always, Raegan sorted the cups and teabags (two for
Jasper, one for her), and Jasper was in charge of distributing the biscuits.
Together, they foraged for plates, spoons, and sugar. They settled into their
regular positions;
she,
curled up on the battered
armchair, while he sprawled across the bench. And though the steaming tea was
poured and drunk largely in silence, by the time they were staring at the
dregs, the atmosphere was less frosty. Jasper had even recovered enough to ask
why Raegan had turned up in the first place.

Nudging the plate of biscuits over to him, Raegan slurped at
the remnants of her tea. ‘It was nothing.
Stupid, really.’

‘But it upset you.’ Jasper peered at her owlishly over his
glasses. She’d always thought that he and Tristan were nothing alike, but at
that particular moment he reminded her very much of his father.

So she began to recount the events of the evening; the
locking-in lesson, the tension between Declan and Sam, and finally her surprise
introduction to Bree’s girlfriend. But when she was sitting there, in the tatty
workshop, working her way through a packet of Hob Nobs with her friend, it
didn’t sound so bad. In fact, her encounter with Adriana seemed pretty funny.

Jasper agreed. More than agreed – by the time Raegan had
reached the part of the story where Adriana accused her of ogling, he was in
fits.

‘She thought you were checking her out?’ He spluttered.

‘Naturally.’
Raegan giggled too,
happy to see that he was feeling better. She swatted at him. ‘You’re awful! She
was such a cow.’

‘Well,’ Jasper clutched his stomach briefly. ‘I won’t argue
with you, seeing as she’s taken Bree off the market.
No
matter how pretty she is.’

‘I didn’t say she was pretty,’ Raegan shot back.

‘Bet she is, though.’

‘I guess,’ Raegan admitted grumpily. ‘She is kind of hot.
If you like that sort of thing.
Still. Looks aren’t
everything.’

‘Bloody are.’

‘Oi!’
Raegan protested.
‘Since when are you the lord of shallow?’

‘Not talking about me. Anyway, it’s easy for good-looking
people to say ‘looks aren’t everything’. Try being an ugly mug and see how you
feel then.’

Raegan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t miss the unspoken ‘like
me’ that hung in the air. ‘Any girl would be lucky to have you, Jas.’

‘Oh, give it a rest.
Another cup?’
Jasper got up quickly, grabbing their mugs.

‘I’m serious!’ Raegan didn’t know why she was pushing the
subject. Maybe it was because of what happened earlier. Or maybe it was simply
because she believed it.

‘Jasper.
You’re a catch. A girl
would be mad to pass you up.’

‘I must know a lot of mad women, then,’ he muttered,
plonking teabags in their mugs slightly viciously.

‘No, just not-
‘ Raegan
struggled
with how to put it. ‘Just- you haven’t met the right one. Or they haven’t
realised that you’re interested. I bet you’ve never told... anyone.’ It was on
the tip of her tongue to say ‘Bree’ – but she stopped herself just in time.

His response startled her. ‘What, like you have?’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Gunner.’ She didn’t like his superior tone. ‘Here
you are, telling me to act on my feelings, when you do anything but!’

‘No,’ she managed, stung.

‘“No”, she says,’ he scoffed, mimicking her in an unflatteringly
whiny fashion. ‘If I’m Lord Shallow, you’re Lady Wimp.’

‘Wimp!’
Raegan sat up in her chair.
‘I am
not
a wimp.’

‘Are too!’

‘Am
not!’

Her last ‘not’ was voiced with such force that Jasper
blinked in surprise. He was only teasing.

Now she was on her feet, stuffing her jumper in her bag,
eyes searching wildly for some imagined, dropped possession.

‘Oh, Ray-Gunny Gunster,’ he said soothingly, ‘I didn’t mean
anything by it. Just that we’re
both
a bit behind with the whole
confessing of feelings thing. I mean, you haven’t told Sam how much you like
him, or
Declan
how much you
don’t
like him...’

‘We weren’t talking about me!’ She bit out, pulling the
right arm of her jacket on.
‘For once!
Believe
me,
I’m familiar with my own crapness. And you know
what,
I was enjoying not thinking about it!’

Her left arm was caught, now, and she struggled fruitlessly
with it for a while. She reached across her chest to yank at the jacket from
the inside. ‘In fact, I could use-‘

She froze mid-sentence. Her hand fluttered aimlessly against
her breastbone.

‘You could use?’ Jasper prompted her.

She had the weirdest expression on her face.

‘Raegan?’

‘But- where- what?’ her voice was gasping, panicked, as she
ran her hands over herself. ‘It’s-‘

Muttering under her breath, she ran towards her bag. After
digging through the contents for a while, she gave up, and, with a violent
movement, upended the rucksack on the floor.

‘Raegan!’

The bemusement in his voice brought her back to earth. She
stopped scrabbling, but instead of getting back up, she dropped her face into
her hands.

After a moment of scratching his head in confusion, Jasper
thought he should say something – but she beat him to it.

‘My necklace,’ her voice came from inside her hands in a
muffled groan. ‘It’s gone.’

***

At that very moment, across the sea from Bridey and Con,
Timothy Vallence lit another candle. He had slept very little since Marie’s
disappearance. Sitting on the stool behind the counter of his shop, he glanced
at the lonely pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. When it got too much,
he would lay down for a short time. But he would not go home. To go home and
not find her there would be unthinkable. He could keep himself busy here. The
candle flames danced across the rows of twinkling jewels strewn across the
glass surface; the jades, emeralds, and turquoise precious and semi-precious
stones Marie had so adored. He would examine them carefully for any
imperfections, and then rearrange them within the velvet casing. He took a
quick look at the clock, fearful of falling behind: he could not break his
routine. But the hands only read 10:22. Sometimes life was so slow that he felt
he was living inside a stopped clock; as if time had broken along with his
heart.  The aching chasm of the night stretched before him.

***

It took a good while – a whole pot of tea, in fact - for
Jasper to understand why Raegan was so upset.

‘It must mean a lot to you,’ he said finally. ‘But how could
anyone have stolen it? I mean, literally; don’t you always wear it?’

‘I took it off for class,’ Raegan said absently, twisting a
lock of hair round and round her finger. ‘I put it in my backpack.’

‘You’re sure you put it there?’ Jasper probed.