beats per minute (3 page)

Raegan’s boring at the mo. All she does is cry.

Oh, don’t invite Raegan. She’ll just ruin the mood.

Better not say anything or you’ll set her off again.

Raegan didn’t want to remember the bad times, but after what
had happened with her London friends she had given up on making new ones.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, picking up the small silver bag and turning to leave.

‘No probs.’ Marie paused, and then called after her, ‘If you
ever need a break from the island, you’re welcome to hang out here sometime. Or
we could go out. There’s this new diner on Main Street, meant to be fun.’

Raegan wasn’t used to smiling like this; her face was
starting to ache. It was a welcome pain. ‘Sounds wicked.’

The bell tinkled. A range of expressions flitted across
Con’s face as he entered to find Raegan reciting her number for Marie, who was
tapping away furiously at her phone; surprise, amusement, and even something
that looked strangely like pride. But a second later he was nodding at Marie
impatiently,
face a grizzled mask once more.
‘About time.
Home, Raegan.’

That was that. Now they were back on the boat, speeding
toward the tiny island which Raegan could not think of as home, not yet, and it
was as if the events of the last few hours had never taken place.

Almost worse was the realisation that she was back to square
one with Con. In St Jude’s he had transformed into an almost kindly, almost
friendly grandfather. But for some reason this fairy-tale like mutation had
ended the moment they stepped onto the boat, and he hadn’t addressed a word to
her since. He hadn’t even looked at her. Now, glancing sideways at his profile,
so still it could have been carved out of rock, Raegan couldn’t fight the
feeling that during this return journey something had been lost; something
which, though it had only surfaced in a mere glimmer for a few moments, had
been inestimably precious.

Over a
week had passed since her visit to the mainland and Raegan had barely a moment
to herself, though the weirdness of Tristan Fettes and his remarks followed her
around like a shadow. Night after night of haunted sleep didn’t help. But there
was no time to think things over. Bridey
always had something which
needed doing, and if she didn’t, Jenna, who ran the island café during tourist
season, did; and both would whisk away as soon as she was settled with her
task, barely pausing to say goodbye. In her more uncharitable moments, when her
shoulders ached from polishing silverware or her eyes stung from the fumes of
the onions she was chopping, by the kilo, for the lunch-time rush, Raegan
wondered why Jenna’s daughter, the lucky recipient of the lovely bracelet she
had chosen, wasn’t there to help. The thought always brought her up short; she
could hardly blame the girl for having a mother and not attending to her more.
She would have done the same. She had done the same.

The icing on the cake was just how well her appearance
matched her mood. Raegan had always thought of herself as pretty boring to look
at, but even ‘boring’ had been hard to achieve when she was stressed or tired.
The one thing she could count on was that an all-nighter would shortly be
followed by a delightfully vibrant outbreak of acne. It didn’t matter if she’d
been skipping sleep to cram for the dreaded French exam or for a night out –
the next day her face would punish her by doing a brilliant impression of a
pepperoni pizza. Today her skin was glowing with so many unhealthy red dots
that no concealer on earth would cut it. Shame, really, that it was completely
the wrong time of year for trick or treating. If she and Marie were going out
for Halloween, there would be no need for a costume.

She smiled. Bearing in mind how excited Marie had been about
her outfit, she was going to have to find something a bit more Dolce and
Gabbana, a bit less Dracula.

Marie had called yesterday, as bright and breezy as if
they’d been friends for years. ‘Hey-ya,’ she exclaimed. ‘Sorry I didn’t get a
chance to call before, it’s been mad. You must have been like, has she fallen
off the face of the Earth?!’

Raegan was too embarrassed to admit that she had chickened
out of calling Marie herself. The phone number was contemplated but never
dialled.

Fortunately Marie was less given to self-doubt. And, it
appeared, breathing – she had not yet paused to inhale. ‘…would not believe the
week I’ve had,’ Raegan heard her say. ‘I’ve had it up to here with these bloody
mock exams! Do you know what I mean?’

This time Marie did stop, waiting for an answer, but the
question caught Raegan off guard. ‘Not really,’ she blurted, twisting the phone
cord around her fingers. ‘I haven’t been to school since… well, before.’

‘Yeah.’
The response was quiet, and
Raegan felt her cheeks grow hot. Now Marie would make some excuse, hang up.
Just like Annie and Bex, her closest friends at school. One nice conversation
in a jewellery shop didn’t count for much. No-one could put up with her for
long.

But Marie surprised her by asking another question. ‘Do you-
you going back?’

‘Dunno. They said I should take a break and restart in
September.’ She remembered that last conversation, sitting around a polished
wooden table, the sea of concerned, painted faces staring across at her.
Familiar people that she could only look at through unfamiliar
eyes, now.

As the words ‘mocks’ and ‘coursework’ and ‘staying on track
for university’ were bandied around, she realised that there was nothing they
could do for her.

All the grades on all the pieces of paper in the world were
not going to bring her back.

Marie’s voice, deliberately cheery, broke into her thoughts.

‘You should come to St Jude’s with me next year!’

That made Raegan smile. ‘Maybe, but I’d have to take the
year all over again - not cool!’ she joked. ‘Are you sure you could deal with
that? You’re going to be rocking the sixth form by then, don’t forget.’

‘You’re right. I better hang up now… jokes! Don’t be an
idiot,
you
have
to come to SJH. But first I’ve gotta
get through these frigging mocks! I had six hours of science today. Six!
In a row!’

‘Ouch. Sounds like a nightmare.’

‘Totally.
But it’s over now and I
am ready to party! So, you free tomorrow night?’

‘Well, my options are peeling potatoes, hanging out in my
bedroom, or playing scrabble with Gran so… yeah!’

Marie giggled. ‘Great! I’ve just had my nails done. And wait
‘til you see what I’m wearing! Ohmigod, it’s
-
’ but Raegan was left in suspense,
for a strange noise interrupted their communication; a muffled sound, like a
hand being cupped over the receiver, and what may have been an expletive. Then
Marie was back, breathless, hurried, ‘My dad’s coming! I’m meant to be
revising… gotta go. Meet me there at eight, yeah?’

Click.

And now Friday was here. Taking care not to drip water
everywhere, Raegan rooted out her poshest underwear. After all, as her mother
would have said, this was a ‘lacies night, not a grundies night’. The blue
chiffon bra and little shorts looked prettier than ever when compared with the
baggy grey tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts she had lived in since the funeral.
And yet they sat, untouched, unloved, on the bed. She was still in her
dressing-gown.

Can I do this?

The nagging feeling tugged at her as it always did the
moment she paused. There was something she needed to remember. It was as if her
brain was struggling, of its own volition, to slot missing pieces into a
gigantic jigsaw – but these were definitely square pegs into round holes,
because Raegan didn’t know where to start. What had she forgotten?
Her dreams?
The nightmares which followed her mother’s death
– nightmares which were so vivid she would wake up screaming, her feet already
on the floor and her legs, forgetting they were tangled in the bedsheets,
springing into action, causing her to land on the ground in a painful heap –
yielded memories she longed to forget.

No. Don’t think. Do.
This was how she had made it
through the last few months. She heaved herself over to the bed and reached for
the clothing.

And then suddenly it wasn’t blue, but pale white and tipped
with yellow.
A candle.
Flickering candle lights,
illuminating the pitch darkness, danced before her eyes.  She knew,
somehow, that this was a remembrance from a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut.
The warmth of the candles was suddenly so tangible she could feel it licking at
her skin.

Her senses were slowly awakening. She was no longer on the
outside looking in: she was there, in a high-ceilinged room, lost in the dark
and cool.  Hooded figures stood at the edges but kept their distance,
watching. The only furniture noticeable was the high stone table, illuminated
by a multitude of white, tall tapers suspended in mid-air. The unreality of this
did not register; instead, she moved towards them, entranced. She knew they
were for her. She began to count. Sixteen candles…

Then someone was shaking her, a sensation as abrupt and
shocking as being drenched with ice.
‘Raegan?’

It was still so dark.

‘Can you hear us, love? Can you open your eyes?’

This was not as easy as it sounded because her eyelids
seemed to be made of lead. No wonder it had been dark. The faces staring down
at her came into sharp focus. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh, Raegan!’ exclaimed Bridey, who was sitting on the bed
beside her. ‘You fainted! How are you feeling? Con –
‘ she
broke off briskly to speak to her husband, looming over her shoulder, ‘Go and
get her a glass of water, would you?’

‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ Raegan protested, trying to sit up. Bridey
held her firmly.

‘You fainted, Raegan. I sent Con up to see if you wanted a
snack before you went out – I made cheese scones,’ Bridey added absently as she
pressed a hand against Raegan’s forehead, peering anxiously into her eyes. ‘Oh,
thank goodness he was here to catch you. You could’ve been hurt!’

‘I think – I think I fell asleep...’ Raegan’s voice trailed
off as she realised how dumb that sounded. Then she was hit by a wave of
exhaustion. Flopping tiredly against the pillows, it suddenly didn’t seem so
stupid after all.Bridey took her hand. ‘You look all in,’ she said gently.

Con, re-entering the
room,
was not
so tactful.
‘All in?
She looks a fright. Girl, you
need to take better care of yourself.’

Raegan ignored the water he held out, though his words hit
her as sharply as if he’d thrown it in her face. What was his problem? Why
couldn’t he act like a normal grandfather, for once, and pretend he cared?
Fat chance.
He didn’t seem worried at all. In fact, he
seemed disappointed – like it was her fault, like she chose to be some wimp who
went about fainting all over the place.

She realised he was still talking.

‘A banana in the morning isn’t enough, lass. You
feather-headed girls pick at your food as if you were birds! You want to be
eating a fry; take a leaf out of Bridey’s book. She eats like a horse and is as
bonny a woman as I ever saw.’

‘Well, ex
cuse
me for not being able to shove a whole
pig in my face each morning,’ Raegan, now sitting bolt upright and completely
awake, snapped. ‘I’ll do my best to stay standing in future. Sorry to bother
you.’ The words had left her mouth before she realised what she was saying.

There was a silence. Raegan’s cheeks flamed but the pressure
of Bridey’s hand gave her courage. She returned Con’s gaze.

To her surprise, one side of his mouth twisted in a grin.
‘You’re right. You’re only a wee thing, probably doesn’t take much to fill you
up. Still, I’m sure it would set your grandmother’s mind at rest if you ate an
oat cake or two with your fruit in the morning.’ At this, Bridey’s reproachful
eyes turned back to Raegan and she smiled.

Slightly mollified, Raegan nodded. ‘Sure. And it’s no
hardship, they’re nice.’

He bowed his head in response, briefly, before his eyes
wandered over to the dresser.
‘This room.
It suits you?
Can get a bit chilly in the evenings.’

The change in conversation caught her off guard. She glanced
from him to Bridey and back again. ‘Oh. Yes, thanks. It’s… great.’

‘Sleeping well?’

Was it her imagination, or was there something knowing in
his voice? Her pulse jumped. How embarrassing it would be if it turned out that
she had been disturbing Con and Bridey every night with her interrupted sleep…
or, even worse, what if she had woken them up screaming during one of her
nightmares? ‘Yeah,’ she replied, finally, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘Why?’

He held her gaze.

‘We’ll leave you to get some rest now, dear,’ Bridey
interrupted softly. ‘It’s best after a scare like that.’

Raegan stared at her hands, knackered. Perhaps a hearty hogroast
wouldn’t be so bad after all. She could do with a boost.

‘I’ll call your wee friend,’ her grandmother continued,
pushing off from the bed heavily. ‘Let her know you won’t be coming.’

Raegan’s eyes were nearly closed before the words
registered. ‘What?’

‘Well, after that – you’re hardly well enough to go out.’
Bridey’s tone was soothing but Raegan did not miss the tense look she shared
with Con.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Love-‘

‘I’m
fine.’

The tinny echo of the phone ringing in the downstairs
hallway interrupted the tense silence.

‘Oh, who could that be?’ Bridey looked torn for a fraction
of a second but her manners were too good to leave the phone ringing.  She
couldn’t help casting one last, anxious look in Raegan’s direction when she
reached the doorway. ‘Just take things steady then, won’t you? It’s your
birthday tomorrow,
pet,
you’ll not want anything to
ruin that. Stay in the warm at Marie’s house and let the Vallences take good
care of you tonight.’

Con waited until the door shut before turning to Raegan accusingly.
‘Except you’re not going to the Vallences’ house, are you?’

She wished – not for the first time – that she wasn’t such a
bad liar. ‘I don’t know what you mean. The plan is to watch films and get a
pizza. No big deal.’

‘Hum. And you usually get all dolled up just to stay in, do
you?’ His hand drifted over the Max Factor and Maybelline bottles on her
dressing table with the same sort of baffled disconnection Raegan felt when
faced with heavy-duty farm equipment.

‘You need to put on ‘Crimson Devil’’ he squinted at the
writing on the side of the lipstick, ‘to eat pizza?’

The lipstick looked absurd in his massive paw. The longer
she stared at it, a glittery and painfully superficial contrast to the cracked,
rough skin of the fingers in which it was clenched, the more it – and he-
seemed to be mocking her and her earlier, agonising bout of nerves.

This night out was the first thing she had looked forward to
in months. How dare he ruin it? Marching over to the dressing table, she only
just managed not to rip the lipstick from his hand. ‘Don’t touch my stuff.’

‘I was only-‘

‘Give it back!’

He dropped the lipstick into her palm wordlessly.

‘Now please get out.’ Her voice was trembling as she stepped
back from him. ‘I need to get ready.’

She didn’t wait for his reaction before sitting back down at
her dressing table. Primer and foundation met her cheeks with ragged slaps. She
did not meet her eyes in the mirror.

His parting shot, heavy with disappointment, was so soft
that she nearly missed it.