Bet Your Life (3 page)

“Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

“I was walking home from the fireworks. I took a short cut this way.”

“On your own?” Dan frowned at me. His hand was still on my arm but his grip loosened a little. “What happened to your friends?”

“I don’t know.”
Mind your own business.

“Did you see anyone you know at the fireworks?”

“Lots of people.” I knew where this was going.

“Did you see Will?”

I shook my head.

“Sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” I tried to pull my arm back and he held onto it for a second longer, his thumb stroking my skin, very lightly. Dan wasn’t stupid. He was standing between me and everyone else who was there so they couldn’t have seen it. I felt like throwing up.

“You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you, Jess? You’re going to leave him alone.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” I said, and used my other hand to peel his fingers off me. “I don’t think we need to have it again.”

“As long as you understand I won’t tolerate any sneaking around.” His eyes were bright with malice. He was enjoying this. “You know I’d find out. You know what would happen, and you know how that would make Will feel. If you really care about him—”

“What if I
don’t
really care? What if I keep my distance from him because the whole thing bores me to tears?” I glared at him. “You’re the one who’s made this into a big deal. Just because you’ve spent years pining for my mother, you seem to think the two of us are head over heels in love. Newsflash: we’re not. There are plenty of boys who don’t come with so much drama.”

“I thought that was part of the attraction.”

“Not for me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted and it was a cruel reminder of something Will did, a trick he had of almost smiling when he was just about to kiss me. A tiny shudder went through me.

“Cold?”

“A bit.” I stepped back, wanting some more air between us. “What happened to him?”

“What happened to who?”

“That guy on the ground—”

“Is going to hospital.”

“Did someone hit him?”

“So it seems.”

“Why?”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know. We’ll look into it. I can’t spend any more time on you tonight, Jess. Get going. Go on. Go home. Quick as you like.” He was crowding me, his arms stretched out, herding me toward the narrow lane I’d walked down.

I was walking backward as slowly as I dared, leaning to see round Dan’s bulk. He was wearing a big high-visibility jacket, neon yellow with
POLICE
on the front and back, as if he could be anything else. The light from the ambulance headlights flared on it as the paramedics turned their vehicle, now fully loaded, and headed away. “Is he going to be OK?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.” Massive disapproval from Dan; he hated me asking questions. His eyes were dark gray, and even in the orange glare of the streetlights I could see they were as hard as flint. “I could do without it, tonight of all nights. We’ve got enough trouble with Halloween mischief without having to deal with a mystery. And we don’t even know who he is.”

“I do,” I said. “His name is Sebastian Dawson.”

“Jim Dawson’s son? From West Hill Road?” Dan reached into his coat for a notebook and started scribbling.

“I think so. I know him from school. I think he lives around West Hill Road, though, now that you mention it. But didn’t he have ID on him? Or a phone?”

I thought he was going to answer me, but instead he sighed. “I’ll say it again. Go. Home. Or do you want me to drive you?”

The last time I’d been in a car with Dan Henderson alone, I’d been seriously worried for my safety. It was among the top five experiences I wanted never to repeat. “No need. I’m going.”

I turned and walked off, feeling his eyes on me as I headed down the street. Chips of broken glass crunched under my boots and I tacked sideways to avoid the worst of it. I was almost out of range when he called after me.

“Jess.”

I turned.

“You remind me of your mother in that dress.”

Yuck
. “It’s Tilly’s, actually.”

“It looks good on you. But you should have a coat.”

I didn’t answer him, but I thought my response loudly enough that he could probably have heard it if he’d been listening.

No shit, Sherlock.

I trudged on toward home, still looking for Will but knowing he was long gone. Laughter and singing hung on the night air as Halloween parties started to get underway in earnest. The fireworks were just the curtain-raiser. I didn’t regret turning down Ryan’s invitation to Harry Knowles’s house, but I did wish I had somewhere to be, among friends. As I walked down a narrow street with darkened houses on either side, a loud scream made me flinch. A girl reeled out of an alley on my right, her eyes staring. Her dress clung to her body because it was soaked in blood. Her hair hung in rat-tails around her blood-streaked face and she reached out to me with hands that were like claws, whispering, “
Please
…”

I would have screamed myself, but terror made me mute. I stood still, unable to move. The girl dropped her hands to her sides. Her voice was flat when she spoke.

“If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Imogen Hinch, Immy to her friends, of whom I was not one. I recognized her at the same time as I realized the blood was fake. I felt my heart begin to slow down from all-out gallop to a more sustainable canter. Shock made me angry and I snapped, “What was
that
?”

“Just a bit of fun.” She reached up a languid hand and rearranged her hair. “Not that I would expect you to recognize it.”

“What’s fun about pretending you’ve been attacked?”

“It makes people scream.” Another girl emerged from the darkness, tall and gangling in a black onesie with bones printed on it. Her face was painted chalk-white and she had drawn black circles around her eyes, a black triangle on her nose and vertical lines across her lips. It was the skull-face from earlier, I realized, and now it made perfect sense that she’d threatened me. Claudia Carmichael was still loyal to Natasha Watkins, her best friend, the once-upon-a-time princess of the social scene. She was viewing what she’d filmed on her phone. “You were rubbish. Not even funny.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Claudia.”

“Well, we’re not surprised. You spoil everything.” She came and stood beside Immy, the two of them effectively blocking my path.

“This again,” I said softly. “You still blame me. I didn’t make anyone behave the way they did. I wasn’t even here when it happened. And Natasha—”

“Don’t talk about her. She didn’t deserve what you did. Or the consequences.”

“All I did was find out the truth. She thought she’d got away with what she did. She bullied Freya and set her friends on her and Freya died. I just made sure Natasha had to take responsibility for it. Most people think she got off lightly,” I said.

“Most people don’t matter.” Claudia leaned in. “You don’t matter. And Natasha will be back.”

“Bigger and badder than ever.” I sighed. “OK. Fine. I’ll look forward to it. Now can I go?”

“I wish you would,” Immy said. She watched a group of girls walk past on the other side of the street. They were giggly and a little bit drunk, and Immy’s face was sullen as she stared at them. “They would have been perfect.”

“Too bad.” I made as if to walk off, but Claudia put out her hand to stop me.

“Natasha asks about you and Ryan, you know, every time we speak. What should I tell her?”

“Tell her to get over it.”

“Are you with him or not?” Claudia demanded. “I saw you at the fireworks.”

“Everyone saw you at the fireworks.” Immy smoothed her hair again. “Next time, get a room.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I saw exactly what it’s like. Natasha is going to freak out.” From the way Immy said it, she was looking forward to telling her.

“I’m not interested in him.” Their faces didn’t change. Why was I wasting my time?

Because I was annoyed beyond belief that no one could accept that I didn’t fancy Ryan. Because it would make my life a little bit easier if Natasha wasn’t trying to take revenge on me for something I hadn’t even done. Because I was sick and tired of being a punch line.

“Look, Ryan’s just not my type.”

“Are you saying he’s not good enough for you?” Claudia demanded.

But he’s good enough for Natasha … I avoided the trap without too much difficulty. “No, I’m not. I’m saying I don’t want to go out with him. And I’ve said it to him too. He just doesn’t like that I turned him down.”

“Why was that?” Immy’s eyes narrowed. “Did you have a better offer?”

I had to be tired, because suddenly I was blinking tears away. “No. Look, I don’t want trouble. I just want to go home.”

“Home as in London?” Claudia suggested.

“Home as in up the hill. That’s where I live now. And you’d better get used to it because I’m not leaving.”
For the moment.
I was relieved that there wasn’t a wobble in my voice this time. I sounded as if I was in control. I sounded tough. “Are you going to get out of my way or what?”

They didn’t move off the pavement, but I was able to squeeze past Claudia without her attempting to stop me. I walked away at a steady pace, not hurrying, even though I felt the back of my neck tingle until I was out of range.

“Don’t get cold,” Immy called after me, which I ignored.

One of them said something to the other in a low voice, too quietly for me to catch, but I definitely heard the cackle that followed. I was meant to.

And I had two suspects for the theft of my coat.

As I walked up the steep road to Sandhayes, I distracted myself by wondering what had happened to Seb Dawson. He was the only person I’d encountered who seemed to be having a worse time than me. At least I was finishing up my evening in the ramshackle, sprawling Victorian villa that was my family home rather than the hospital.

The house was dark when I got back, except for the candles in the pair of leering pumpkins in the porch. I had forgotten to get keys from Hugo, I realized, and my own had been in my coat pocket. I stretched up to run my hand along the lintel, hoping no one had borrowed the spare key and finding, for a few heart-stopping seconds, nothing but dust, until my panicky pawing dislodged it. It bounced on the ground and spun away into the shadows. I rolled my eyes. It was just not my night. I borrowed a candle from one of the pumpkins and hunted around the porch until I saw the metal gleam. At least I’d found one of the things I’d been looking for.

In the hall, Hugo’s coat wasn’t on its hook and neither was Petra’s. I was glad they were still having fun somewhere. Hopefully together. It wasn’t a night to be alone.

I shivered my way down to the kitchen, where a small lamp was still on. The room was full of shadows and I stopped for a second, feeling as if there was someone else there. But that was pure paranoia. Or even wishful thinking, I thought, skirting the chair where Will usually sat. It was askew, as if he had been here tonight. And if he
had
been here, I had missed him. And now he might never come back.

I cut off that line of thinking before I collapsed into a tiny heap on the floor. My aunt’s big fringed paisley shawl hung on the back of one of the chairs and I wrapped it around me, feeling as if I would never be warm again. I put on the overhead light and hummed to myself as I made tea, pretending to be brisk and cheerful when I was actually hollowed out from heartbreak. The pretense was a crowd-pleasing trick I’d learned in September, when my mother had threatened to take me back to London. She had been worried about the not-speaking, not-eating, not-sleeping version of me—all that was left when Will went away. And she’d been there herself, in her time. She knew how it felt. Her own solution had been to run away. Mine was to stay and tough it out. Pretend everything was fine, until it actually was. And I had thought it was working. I’d thought I was getting over him.

I hadn’t even seen him, but knowing he was back made my hands shake.

I flicked off the lights and carried the steaming mug of tea back through the silent house, up the stairs to the attic, feeling my mood lift just a little as I climbed higher and higher. No matter what, I always felt a little thrill of pleasure when I walked into my bedroom. I had inherited it—sloping ceiling, window seat, bookshelves and all—from my dead cousin Freya. In the months since I’d been living in Port Sentinel, I had gradually changed things, moving the desk and swapping some of Freya’s art for band posters. Her books had mostly made way for mine, though I still kept them stacked in neat piles. I was aware that Freya was still a part of the family, much missed, and I didn’t want to lose her, either. I’d never known her but I felt as if I had.

The other thing that I had inherited from Freya, I thought, settling on the window seat to drink my tea, was a big problem in the shape of Will Henderson. Freya had liked him too. More than liked him. And it had done her no good whatsoever.

I’d left the light off, not needing anything except moonlight to see the way. The dormer window gave me a perfect view down the garden, and as the leaves had started to fall I could see more of Will’s house. A light was on in an upstairs room, shining steadily in the darkness. I didn’t know if it was Will’s room or not; I’d never been upstairs in his house. Upstairs was where his mother lay suffering. Dying, in point of fact, though no one knew how long it would be before that happened. Not long, by all accounts. I shook my head slowly. I couldn’t just find someone without issues. I had to pick the guy whose heart was breaking over something he couldn’t change.

Even as I watched, the light went out. I pulled the shawl down over my knees and sipped my tea, feeling miserable. From the moment I’d met Will I’d known he was trouble, and I’d been moderately successful at keeping my distance—until the warm summer afternoon when he kissed me for the first time. I’d fallen, hard and fast, totally in love. I knew it was going to be complicated, given that his father and my mother had history with a capital H. But for the first couple of weeks, it was as close to perfect as you could get.