Bet Your Life (4 page)

We kept it a secret, or thought we had—sneaking out to meet at the end of the garden where the tangle of trees and shrubs meant we weren’t overlooked. Will was a regular visitor to Sandhayes, a friend of Hugo’s since forever. Because of his mother’s illness, my aunt Tilly liked to look after him. He came for meals, sitting across the table from me, setting my blood on fire every time he glanced in my direction with those silver-gray eyes that were anything but cold. He had kissed me in the dusty back room of the charity shop where I worked, while I protested (not very much) about having to get back to the till. He’d kissed me in the garden with leaves glowing green overhead and birds singing love songs in the branches above us. And he’d kissed me in the very room where I was sitting. I put my head down on my knees and sighed. I didn’t want to think about it, but somehow I couldn’t stop myself from playing it back.

*   *   *

I hear quick footsteps on the stairs, and Will calling to Hugo, telling him to go ahead without him. Hugo’s voice is raised in complaint and Will tells him to stop shouting because he’ll only be a minute. I go to the door, and when I open it he’s there. As he walks in he puts his finger on my mouth to stop me from saying anything. He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel, then pushes me against the wall. His breathing is fast and my heart is racing. His mouth is on mine, his hands tangled in my hair. I am deaf and blind to everything except him. When he breaks off and stands back, still breathing hard, I am dazed. His eyes are locked on mine, telling me beyond any doubt how he feels about me, and what he would do if we had longer than a single stolen minute. I reach for him and he kisses me again, twice, quickly, and then he leaves me without looking at me, without saying a word. I hear him running down the stairs, flight after flight, all the way to the hall. I’m still standing in the same place, one hand to my mouth, when I hear the front door bang.

My lips feel bruised for hours afterward. Days.

I have never been happier in my entire life.

*   *   *

I came back to the present with another sigh, and turned to look at the door where Will had kicked it. A black scuffmark was my constant reminder of what I had had, and what I had lost. As if I needed a reminder, frankly. I remembered every kiss. My body remembered every touch. Two months, and I still ached for him.

So, basically, one minute, everything was amazing. The next, it was over. It was like dropping a crystal vase on a hard floor. Instant, total devastation.

And I was the one who’d made it happen. I’d broken up with him for the best of reasons.

It didn’t make it any easier to bear.

I unfolded myself, stiff from sitting for so long in one position, and got ready for bed, still without putting on a light. It felt right to be in the dark. Once I was tucked up, snug in flannel pajamas and socks and with an extra blanket on top of the duvet, I started to feel warmer. Not better. Just warmer.

I lay for a while thinking about Sebastian Dawson, more to distract myself from worrying about Will than for any other reason. Seb was the living definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Blue eyes, black hair, cheekbones that could cut glass. He was almost too good-looking, I had always thought. And he had plenty of arrogance to go with it. We went to the same school but he’d never bothered to speak to me. To be strictly accurate, I’d never bothered to speak to him, either. I wondered if I’d really seen what I thought I had seen—the marks on his wrist and the bruises like shadows on his skin. Dan was right: I should keep out of it. But I thought about it all the same, until I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and realized how late it was.

I turned over, got comfortable, and completely failed to go to sleep.

3

“What happened to you last night?” Hugo demanded, his mouth full.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” I shuffled across the kitchen like a zombie questing for brains, arms outstretched. Tiredness meant I was running off my primordial brain. It could only cope with the basic necessities of life. At the moment, what I needed was heat, food, and caffeine. The ancient Aga had made the kitchen tropical when the rest of the house was definitely Arctic Circle territory. And by a lucky coincidence, it was also where I could get a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea.

“A cure for all that ails you.” My uncle Jack grinned as he slid two rashers onto a plate and pushed it toward me. He was wearing an oversized apron that could have wrapped twice around his lanky frame. “Did you have a good time, Jess?”

“The fireworks were pretty.”
And that is all I can say for the evening …
“I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Always,” Jack said. “It’s going to be a big week. Lots of people in town for half-term. There’s something on every night. Then the big display on Bonfire Night.”

“What happens then?”

“Boats.”

It took me a second to realize that Hugo’s little brother, Tom, had answered me. I waited for him to go on, but he’d relapsed into his usual silence and was shoveling cereal into his mouth with the grace and finesse of a digger. I turned to Jack. “What about boats?”

“Everyone who has a boat sails into the bay after dark, and at a given time they all light a torch.”

“He means the old-fashioned kind. A flaming brand,” Hugo said. “Stupidly dangerous things.”

“They make them by wrapping wooden batons in rags and dipping them in tar. You’ve probably seen them down on the quay.”

“Oh, that’s what those are!” I had seen them stacked up, the ends sticky and black. “But there are hundreds of them.”

“There’ll be hundreds of boats too. It’s pretty spectacular,” Jack said. “And everyone on shore starts their bonfires in response. There’s a total blackout in town—even the streetlamps are switched off, so the only light is from the bonfires. The whole bay and the hills around it are lit up. They’ve been doing it for centuries.”

“It sounds like something Ella would love. I really want her to see Port Sentinel at its best.”

“I prefer spring.” Jack scraped at the frying pan.

“I can’t wait that long.”

“Missing her?” he asked.

“Just a bit.”

“You’ve done well with settling in, Jess. Anyone would think you’d lived in Port Sentinel forever.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you.” Jack was concentrating on the cooking, but I knew he meant it. “And Ella, if it comes to that. What time is she arriving?”

“I think her train gets in at three.”

“Damn. I can’t go and get her, I’m afraid. I’ve got a meeting.” Jack looked past me. “Hugo—”

“Nope.”

“Please.”

“I have a life too. Just because I have a driving license and a car, I don’t see why I should be a free taxi service.”

“First of all,” I said, “I’m not sure that thing qualifies as a car. Secondly, Ella is lovely. You’ll be glad you helped.”

Hugo snorted. “You insult Miss Lemon and expect me to drive you anyway? I don’t think so.”

Miss Lemon was a yellow Fiat and the current love of Hugo’s life. I dug my phone out of my pocket and found a holiday picture of Ella in sunglasses and a strappy top, all glossy dark hair and a big smile. Holding it up, I said, “Want to change your mind?”

“Show me?” He snatched it and peered at the picture. “What did you say her name was?”

“El”—I paused—“la. Two syllables. Not difficult.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not presently.”

“Personality disorders?”

“You’re in luck. She doesn’t mind them.”

“Funny.” Hugo shrugged. “I’m not doing anything else.”

“Excellent.” Now as long as he didn’t freak Ella out completely, we’d be fine.

I sat down between Hugo and Tom, who had propped a book against the milk jug. He was leaning forward so he could scoop cereal into his mouth without even looking, his head practically in his bowl. Hugo, long-limbed like his father, stretched to grab a carton of milk off the counter and dumped it in front of me.

“Don’t even bother trying to get the jug. He’ll fight you for it.”

“Thanks.” I poured treacle-colored tea into my cup. I needed something more like rocket fuel.

Hugo stole half the bacon from my plate to make another sandwich for himself. “So did you find him?”

I didn’t need to ask who he meant. “No, and that was my food.”

“You must have just missed him by a couple of minutes. Shame.” He took a massive mouthful and said, through it, “Dad’ll do you another one.”

My appetite had taken a nosedive. I flapped a hand at him. “Never mind.”

“You’ve got to eat.”

“I
am
eating.” I nibbled some toast, which was dry and had all the gourmet appeal of loft insulation. “Did he say anything? About me?”

Before Hugo could answer, my mother raced into the kitchen. I glared at him, hoping he’d get the message that I didn’t want him to say anything in front of her. He chewed his sandwich and stared back inscrutably.

“Morning.” Mum grabbed a banana and started peeling it. “I’m late. How was last night? What time did you get back, Jess? I hope it wasn’t too late.”

“Around eleven.” I appreciated the effort at being a disciplinarian, but I could have got back at four and Mum would have been none the wiser. Dad had always been the one who enforced rules in our family, until he became preoccupied with his midlife crisis, their divorce, and his stream of increasingly youthful girlfriends. I was used to bringing myself up, pretty much.

“Do I look all right? Professional, I mean. But arty.” Mum worked in a gallery on the main street in Port Sentinel. She took it very seriously and, as far as I knew, had yet to make a single sale.

I scanned her. Long dark hair in a ponytail, gray jumper, narrow black trousers, boots. “You need something else. A necklace or something.”

“I don’t have time.” She smudged lip gloss on with her finger. “I’m late. The gallery opens in ten minutes. Or at least, it’s supposed to. I’ve got the keys. I’m supposed to be in charge. Nick should never have trusted me to be there.” She was on the verge of tears. “I’d drive but there’s nowhere to leave the car.”

“Hugo can take you,” Jack said.

“It’s the thin end of the wedge,” he said darkly. “I knew it would be a mistake to say yes once.” He stood up, though. Despite the cynicism, Hugo was a soft touch. To me, he said, “Did you hear what happened to Seb Dawson?”

“Yeah.” I decided not to tell him how I knew. “Is he OK?”

Hugo shrugged. “Do you care? I don’t.”

“You can’t say that.” I had a sudden vivid memory of Seb’s blood on the pavement and felt sick.

“He’s an idiot.”

“He’s one of Ryan’s friends.” I said it without thinking and Hugo’s eyebrows shot up.

“So if he’s one of Ryan’s friends you’re worried about him, is that it?”

“No. Obviously not.”

“Hugo, I’ve got to go,” Mum said. “Do you mind?”

“Let’s do it.” He followed her out of the kitchen, putting his head back in with a parting shot. “By the way, Jess, Petra found your coat.”

*   *   *

My joy at getting my coat back was short-lived. What Hugo hadn’t said was that Petra had found it in a muddy ditch. It was saturated, and reeked of stagnant water, and every inch of it was filthy. Petra had hung it over the bath and it was still seeping, hours later.

“I’m sorry.” She was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, staring up at it with huge, woebegone eyes.

I opened the window before I sat down beside her to let out the ditch smell. “Why are you sorry? You rescued it.”

“I’m not sure it’s going to recover.”

“Me neither,” I sighed. “Annoying.”

“It’s more than annoying. Who do you think did it? One of Natasha’s friends?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said easily. “Someone’s idea of a joke, probably. I’ll get the coat cleaned once it’s dried out. And if it doesn’t survive, I’ll buy another one.”

“You’ll never get one like it.”

“I’ll find something. Have you seen Fine Feathers recently? We’ve got more stock than space.”

“Yeah, but that was a one-off. You could try on every coat in the shop and not find one that fitted you as well as this coat. It was made for you.”

“It’s a tragedy,” I agreed.

“Aren’t you upset?”

I was livid, but I shrugged. “It’s stupid. Pathetic. At least I got the coat back, though. And that’s thanks to you.”

She had carried it all the way from the recreation ground, heavy and dripping though it was. I’d almost have been tempted to leave it in the ditch, myself.

“It was nothing.”

“I don’t think that.”

She gave me a faint smile, but she still looked troubled. I sat down on the floor beside her and put my arm around her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“Beth’s brother.”

I frowned, trying to remember if I’d known that Petra’s best friend even had a brother. “What about him? Did he say something to you? Do you want me to have a word with him?”

“No. Nothing like that. He’s in hospital.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Beth called me this morning. She was so upset, I couldn’t really understand what she was saying. She said he’d been run over.”

“Wait. What’s Beth’s brother called?”

“Sebastian.”

“Seb Dawson?”

“Yeah.”

I leaned back against the wall. “I would never have guessed that in a million years. They don’t look anything like one another.” Beth was small and wore thick glasses that overwhelmed her face. She had the sweetest smile, but it was nothing like her brother’s wide grin.

“Different mothers. Sebastian’s mum is French.”

Port Sentinel seemed to specialize in complicated families. Wealthy people weren’t any better at being happy than ordinary ones, it transpired.

“That sort of makes sense. Seb looks French.”

“And Beth doesn’t. Seb used to live with his mum, until he was sixteen. She moved to the south of France and Seb moved back in with his dad. Beth and her mum hadn’t even met him until then because Seb’s mum had wanted him to stay away from his dad’s new family. Imagine how awkward that must have been.”