Authors: James Dawson
Cruel Summer (22 page)
Alisha nodded, remembering that they were now on the same level as the swimming pool.
‘Anyway,’ Ben added. ‘No one got out this way.’ He grasped a heavy, rusted padlock that hung from a bolt-lock as if testing its strength. Alisha saw there was a key
hanging from a nail in the doorframe. If someone had come down this way, they could have easily got out, but the padlock was firmly shut.
Ben swung the torch in an arc, casting the light over an old armoire that had been left to decay against the back wall. It was plenty big enough for . . .
Alisha took his arm once more. ‘You don’t think?’
‘I dunno.’ With an unsteady hand, Ben reached for the wardrobe door, took a deep breath and tore it open.
Alisha shrank back, but it contained only mouldy children’s books and enough candles to last through a nuclear winter.
Embarrassing overreaction, much?
Ben exhaled. ‘So, yeah, I agree,’ he said, continuing their earlier conversation. ‘We’re all totally different – except Katie maybe. I hope she never changes. When
Janey died, I think it just put everything into perspective, you know? It changed us. All that Longview drama feels like a hundred years ago now. It was all so trivial – who fancies whom and
all that. We’re not the people we were at school.’
‘Don’t. Remember, I haven’t officially left yet. I’m still there.’
‘Maybe what happened to Janey was the kick up the arse we needed.’ Ben pulled a dust sheet off an exercise bike and then covered it again, satisfied it wasn’t Janey’s
zombie.
Alisha sighed. ‘You’re right. Janey’s death was the biggest wake-up call ever. You know how you think you’ve got forever to get it right, like you have unlimited goes on
the ride or something? Well, you just don’t. One day Janey was there, with all the potential in the world, and the next she was gone. I didn’t wanna end up like that. To be honest, out
of all of us, I was the one who most needed to change, right?’ Alisha looked into Ben’s eyes. There wasn’t even a hint of judgement there. It wasn’t Ben’s style.
He shrugged.
‘Oh, come on. You were there. You know what I was like – ‘Most Likely to Need Rehab’. God, I just want out of that crappy town.’
‘Sorry I abandoned you.’ Ben placed a warm hand on her shoulder, squeezing the muscle in just the right spot to release about five years of tension.
Alisha smiled, suddenly feeling tipsy – but not the kind of tipsy that comes from drink. ‘Not your fault, is it?’
‘Whatever happens, we should stay in touch,’ Ben said. ‘Properly this time. And not just say it, but actually do it.’
‘We should.’ For some reason the air seemed thicker and Alisha felt breathless. Her heartbeats-per-minute switched up like a club remix and she dared herself to look up at Ben. He
was gazing down at her and, if she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn it was
the
look, not
a
look. Funny how time seemed to slow down, like the universe was giving
them extra time to make it happen.
In that moment, Alisha was scared – scared that she was imagining it and that Ben wasn’t in the same moment. But his hand was still on her shoulder . . .
What about Ben and Katie?
a little voice in her head said. She chose to ignore it, swept along by the golden feeling inside her. Oh, God, it had been a while; she wasn’t sure she
remembered what to do.
This was the moment. Do or die. Now or never.
Never. Ben broke the connection, twisting to look over his shoulder. ‘Can you hear that?’
The candyfloss feeling in Alisha’s tummy was replaced with sudden dread. ‘What?’
‘I thought I heard something.’ Ben shone the torch over the very back of the cellar. In the wall there was an arched alcove. This time, Ben took
her
hand. They edged closer
and Alisha realised she was chewing a hole inside her cheek. The weak buttery torchlight traced the edges of boxes of junk piled into the space, but the alcove went deep into the wall.
‘What’s behind the boxes?’ Alisha whispered. Janey, or the massive spider from
Harry Potter
– she didn’t know which she was more afraid of.
Ben let go of her hand and took a step inside the cubbyhole. He shifted the boxes to one side. A foul smell drifted out and Alisha covered her mouth and nose with her hand. ‘There are some
shelves and stuff back here, but I swear I heard something . . .’
‘Ben, maybe we should do the clever person thing and get out of here.’
‘Can you smell that?’ he asked, by way of reply.
‘God, yes.’
Inside the alcove, Ben shone the torch over the shelves, revealing tinned food mostly. It was a free-standing unit, and Alisha could see that there was space behind. It was the perfect hiding
place.
‘Alisha, hold the torch for me,’ Ben said. ‘I think there’s something back here.’ He passed the torch to her and she shone it onto the shelves as he took hold of
both sides of the unit and shuffled it from side to side, trying to get round it.
As he rocked the unit, something slid off the top shelf. Alisha screamed – a proper, full-throated, damsel-in-distress scream. A matted, hairy thing fell directly on top of Ben. He reacted
just as it hit him, flinging himself back and crashing into Alisha, sending them both toppling into the nearest wine rack. Bottles clanged to the cellar floor and Alisha clung to the rack to stop
it from tumbling over entirely.
‘Shit!’ Ben cried, scrambling away from whatever had fallen on him. It now lay on the floor by his feet.
‘Oh, God!’ Alisha exclaimed. It was disgusting. It had once been a cat (probably) or a fox or a dog (less likely), but it was now so decayed it was hard to tell. Pearl white maggots
wriggled through the rotting flesh, making a moist squelch as they did so. Alisha gagged and swallowed – she would
not
vomit in front of Ben.
Ben brushed at his hair like a mad person, shaking maggots off his head. ‘Gross!’
Alisha looked away from the sad thing. ‘It must have come down here to die,’ she said.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Ryan appeared in the pool of light at the cellar entrance. ‘Are you OK? We heard you scream,’ he panted.
‘It’s fine,’ Alisha said. ‘We’re fine.’ They weren’t in a cave any more, just a cellar, and the close, intimate atmosphere had dissipated in
Ryan’s presence. There was no Janey down here. Just them and a decaying, passion-killing corpse. Alisha dismissed the almost-kiss immediately. Her imagination had obviously been firing on all
cylinders. Thank God she hadn’t tried to kiss Ben – maximum embarrassment averted, not to mention an ocean of boyfriend-stealing drama with Katie.
‘It’s just a dead cat.’ Ben picked himself off the floor.
‘Ah! The scary cat.’ Ryan said, nodding sagely. ‘A standard horror-film classic.’
‘W
hat do we do now?’ Alisha asked. They were gathered in the lounge. Erin was curled up on the sofa under a throw, looking very much
like she wanted the whole world to curl up and die like the cat in the cellar.
‘Well, I need to shower, for one thing,’ Ben sighed, having disposed of the dead lodger in a bin liner. ‘I suppose it’s over for now. Rox is . . . gone, and we’re
safe in the house. Janey, or whoever the hell we saw, isn’t in here with us.’
‘Why isn’t that more comforting?’ Ryan sat on the arm of the armchair. He’d never felt so awake – alert and ready for whatever the next episode would bring. He had
a feeling the night was far from over.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Katie said, standing up. The weals on her neck were less livid now. ‘When I was little and my mum and dad were working away, I used to stay at my
Gran’s. If I had nightmares, or couldn’t sleep, we always had a tea party in the kitchen – with a teapot and scones, the lot. Nothing is scary at a tea party, so we’ll have
a tea party.’
‘Girl, we’re gonna need something stronger than tea,’ Ryan muttered.
‘Darling, please, I was about to suggest sangria.’
Ryan smiled at Katie. Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks. Maybe their friendship would survive this, after all. ‘Now you’re talking,’ he told her. ‘You save me
a glass. I’m gonna see how Greg is.’
‘Leave him.’ Disgust filled Alisha’s voice. ‘I can’t believe what he did.’
‘Oh, come on. You know that wasn’t Greg. He must have gone to the dark side or something.’ Although it was inexcusable, Ryan had never seen Greg like that before. Today
they’d all been living inside a pressure cooker. Greg had been the leader all day, and just because Greg Cole wasn’t the type to ask for help, didn’t mean he didn’t need it.
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ Ryan stuck to the wall, worried about any leftover shards of glass even though Katie had swept it up while Ben and Alisha were exploring the
cellar.
He climbed the stairs and crossed the landing. Placing an ear to Greg’s door, he listened for signs of life from within. Then he knocked. ‘Greg? It’s Ryan.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘What?’ came the gruff reply.
‘Is that Jekyll or Hyde?’ Ryan asked with a smirk. Hopefully humour would diffuse the situation, not exacerbate it.
More silence. The door opened suddenly and Ryan collapsed onto the other side, his face colliding with Greg’s chest.
‘What do you want, Ryan?’ Greg asked, stepping aside to let Ryan into the room.
‘Charming. I just came to see if you were OK after your Hulk moment.’
Greg closed the door and threw himself onto the bed. He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. ‘Piss off, Ryan. I don’t wanna talk about it.’
It occurred to Ryan that this was the first time they’d been alone together all week. ‘That’s a shame, because we’re gonna.’
Greg scowled and sat up straight. He shot him a filthy look. ‘OK, then. If we’re gonna talk,’ he said in a harsh whisper, ‘let’s start with how Roxanne Dent ended
up with a video of you and me getting it on.’
‘O
h, I wondered when that little twist would surface,’ Ryan said, trying to feign boredom.
‘Keep your voice down!’ Greg hissed.
A plot twist, as Ryan understood it, is when previously hidden information comes to light, putting a whole new spin on the story. He should know; this was
his
very own twist – his
secret tryst with pro-footballer Greg Cole. A secret so potent, he’d never told anyone. Not a soul. The risk to Greg wasn’t even worth the attention Ryan so craved. More than that, it
was his very own little drama. The only
real
drama he’d ever had (before this week) and he didn’t want to jinx it.
‘I don’t think anyone can hear us, Greg, do you? They’re all downstairs hunting for the ghost of Janey, or whatever.’
‘I don’t care. Keep it down. And answer my question.’
‘What question?’ Ryan hovered in the doorway, hands on hips.
‘How did Roxanne see that video?’
Ryan shrugged. ‘I have no idea. We don’t even know that she
did
see it. You know what Rox is –
was
– like. She might just have been stirring.’
Greg rolled off the bed and pulled Ryan away from the door. He even went so far as to stick his head out into the hall to see if anyone was within earshot. The last twelve months had done
nothing to dampen his paranoia at being ‘outed’, then. It really was a passion killer.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, trying to be sexy without looking like he was trying – trickier than it sounds. The second you start
trying
to be sexy, you look like a pound-shop
porn star. As weird as the circumstances were, he couldn’t deny that he was more than a little happy to be alone with Greg again after all these months. If he was honest, he’d assumed
he’d never see Greg again. The more successful Greg was, the more paranoid he became.
‘Are you kidding?’ Greg came back to the bed but sat at a safe distance. ‘She must have seen it. Remember the I Have Never game? She knew about the video.’
Ryan sighed. He’d been running through the possibilities ever since that game on the beach. Deep down, he knew Greg was right. Somehow, Roxanne had seen
that
video – a video
that wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone but him and Greg. It was so monumentally stupid. He of all people should have known that anything committed to camera in the internet age was destined
for the whole wide world to see. ‘I can only think of one way for Rox to have seen it.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Can you remember when Janey dropped her phone down the toilet at school?’
‘No. Ryan, just get on with it.’ Greg clearly wasn’t in the mood to reminisce.
‘Well, long story short, I gave her my old handset – which was the one we used to make our . . . home movie. I guess Janey could have found it on the phone and shown Rox.’
Greg’s rage threatened to return. His eyes almost fell out of their sockets. ‘Are you
kidding
me?’
‘I thought I’d deleted it. I wiped the SIM. It must have been saved to the handset.’
Greg swore so loudly the walls shook. Ryan gritted his teeth.
‘I’m sorry. That’s all I can think of. But if Janey did see it, she never said.’
Greg didn’t look up. ‘How stupid are you? I’m screwed. If people see that video, I’m gonna have to kill myself!’
And people said
Ryan
was melodramatic. ‘Oh, come on, Greggle. It’s a pretty hot video,’ he quipped. ‘You might gain a few fans – a huge gay following at
least.’
Greg charged at him. That comment had obviously been a red rag too far. With sweating hands he took hold of Ryan’s face. ‘It’s not a joke, Ryan. Do you have any idea what my
life will be like if this gets out?’
He didn’t flinch. Instead he stood and gave Greg a hard shove. Their liaisons had been as routine as clockwork. Stolen, or drunken, moments followed by the same performance from Greg: big,
angry, guilty tantrums about how, if Ryan ever told anyone, Greg would kill him. Ryan, still alive, wasn’t convinced.