How I Found You (5 page)

My eyes narrowed. “How did you know where to find them?”

Oscar kept his concentration on the board, which he began preparing for the game. “I’m intuitive. It’s a gift.”

I stared at him. “
Intuitive
?” I echoed.

“Yes.” He looked up at me, a glint of sunlight catching in his russet eyes. “Intuitive. When it comes to the important things.”

“Chess pieces?”

“Yes.” Oscar resumed the board arrangement. “Chess is important to me.”

“So important that you were able to guess where the pieces were?”

“Yep.” He spun a rook between his first two fingers and then placed it on the board.

“Well, if you ask me, you’re either massively deluded or a bad liar.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair with a conceited sneer. “Maybe I’m both.”

“You probably are,” I muttered under my breath.

“Right then.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Are you ready?”

“No,” I grumbled.

Oscar’s delighted smile could have lit up the room.

“Let the lesson begin.” All of a sudden his expression grew serious. “Now, please try to keep up. There are a lot of rules in chess—”

“Sounds like fun,” I remarked.

Oscar glared at me. “There are a lot of rules in chess,” he repeated, “but personally I like to play by two in particular. Rule number one,” he held up an index finger, “don’t let your king get into checkmate.”

“How do I do that?”

“By playing well.”

“Sounds like hard work.”

“Rule number two,” Oscar went on, “protect the queen.”

I made a half-hearted attempt to examine the assortment of pieces. “Which one is the queen?”

“You can work that out for yourself,” Oscar scoffed.

I wrinkled my nose. “They all kind of look like they could be the queen. Except the little ones in the front—” I prodded at the front row.

“The pawns.” Oscar swiped my hand away. He didn’t like me touching the board.

“And I suppose that one’s a horse—”

“Knight,” he corrected wearily.

“Ah-ha!” I isolated one of the larger centre pieces and lifted it up for closer inspection. “Found her.” I held the queen-shaped piece high and made her dance in the air.

“Okay. You can put it back now. It’s not a toy.”

I dropped it back down onto the board, deliberately nudging the two pieces on either side of it. I imagined that would be the most fun I’d have all game.

He grimaced.

I smiled. “So, protect the queen—”

“Because she’s your best player.”

“And don’t let the king get into checkmate.”

“No.”

I hesitated. “And why is that important?”

Oscar’s mouth twitched in irritation. “Because once you’re in checkmate, you lose.”

“I see. So, how can I avoid that?”

“Always watch your back,” he elaborated. “If your opponent is on the attack, make sure you have an escape route. Don’t get caged in from all angles. That’s checkmate.”

From across the room, the conservatory door rattled open.

How did I not notice that when Oscar came in?

I swivelled around to see my aunt standing in the open doorway, wearing a lavender dressing gown and carrying a green watering can. Her short, strawberry blonde hair was pinned up in rollers.

“Good morning!” Mary sang out.

“Morning,” I replied. I sat up straighter in my chair as if I’d been caught misbehaving.

“Good morning,” said Oscar in a strained voice.

“Oh, you’re playing chess,” Mary observed. She wandered around the room, watering her collection of house plants. “Who’s winning?”

“I am,” Oscar answered immediately. He gave me an enigmatic smile.

“Actually,” I shot back, “the game hasn’t started yet.”

Oscar seemed impressed by my response, because his smile broadened. “I don’t need to play to know I’m going to win,” he retorted in a low whisper, quiet enough to go unheard by Mary.

Instinctively I drew back from him. What was that supposed to mean?

Mary finished with her plants and wiped her damp hands on her dressing gown. “Who wants breakfast? I’m making eggs Benedict,” she cajoled.

Oscar clasped his hands together and made an exaggerated show of enthusiasm.

The falseness of his sentiment was clearly lost on Mary, because she toddled off towards the kitchen with a jolly smile on her lips.

But it wasn’t lost on me. And it really,
really
riled me.

I stood up and glowered at him. “That was rude.”

“What?” He blinked up at me with doe-eyed innocence.

“Don’t play dumb! You know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

Oscar cocked his head to one side. “What?”

“You’re obnoxious and rude!”

              “And?” he said, challenging me. “I can’t change who I am just to please you,
Rose
,” he spat out my name with contempt.

I folded my arms. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I think you should leave. Get your brother and go.”

All of a sudden, Oscar’s eyes blazed. “That’s not your decision to make. It’s not
your
house.” 

“You may have fooled my aunt and uncle, but you won’t fool me. You’re bad news, I can feel it.”

Oscar rose to his feet and side-stepped around the coffee table until there were just inches between us.

He stood over me, his lips pressed together tightly. The intoxicating scent of his skin contaminated the air that I breathed.

I didn’t flinch.

“You’re right,” he murmured darkly, “I am bad news.”

His presence didn’t scare me. It should have, but it didn’t.

“I’m going to get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do,” I warned him.  

He smirked back at me. “Interesting choice of words.”

A shiver moved over my skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the icy atmosphere.

Caicus hovered in the doorway, his pale eyes fixed on Oscar. “Breakfast is ready,” he said in a silken voice.

Oscar backed away from me and the boys locked eyes with each other for a long, bated moment.

At last, Oscar broke the silence. “Breakfast, of course. I’ll be right there.” He smiled pleasantly.

Once Caicus had disappeared back into the hallway, Oscar picked up
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
and returned it to the bookcase.

“Do you want to know
my
favourite sonnet?” he asked, his voice gentle, as though the altercation had never happened.

When I didn’t respond, he glanced over his shoulder at me. “Well, do you?” he pressed.

I swallowed. My throat felt as dry as sandpaper. “Not really. But I’ve got a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

Oscar slipped the book back without glimpsing at its pages. He touched the hard spine as he spoke, “When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.”

Hutton Ridge

AFTER BREAKFAST, ROGER DEPARTED FOR
his habitual golf day and Mary formulated a plan to take me shopping. Millwood wasn’t much in the way of retail therapy—unless you were after a pint of milk or half a dozen eggs—so we decided to drive to the next town over, Hutton Ridge.

“Make sure you’re wearing comfy shoes,” Mary joked. “We’re going to shop till we drop!”

I forced a weak smile. Shopping wasn’t exactly number one on my list of favourite things to do. I had an incredibly low threshold when it came to the much-dreaded shopper’s fatigue, and I guessed that I would be dropping a lot more than I would be shopping.

However, for Mary, the opportunity to recruit a spending-spree companion was grabbed with both hands. She beamed joyously as she cleared away the breakfast remnants and piled the plates into the sink.

“I’m going to treat you to something today, Rose,” Mary declared. “Something special.”

“Thanks. That’s kind of you.” I wiped the breakfast table with a cloth, deliberating whether to brush crumbs at Caicus and Oscar, who remained seated, having excused themselves from cleaning duties.

“Well, if I can’t spoil my niece, who can I spoil?” Mary chuckled. She untied her apron and hung it on a kitchen hook. “Boys, if we’re going to Hutton Ridge today, you can come along and speak to the mechanic. He’s seen to my car in the past. He’s good and he’s very reasonable.”

Caicus and Oscar shared an ambiguous look.

“I don’t feel like going to Hutton Ridge,” Caicus declined in an offhanded manner.

“Me, neither,” Oscar concurred.

Mary gave them a puzzled frown. “Oh. Okay. Do you want me to get the mechanic’s phone number? Perhaps he could come to the house.”

The boys looked at one another again, conferring silently.

“No,” Caicus said slowly, twiddling his thumbs like a small child.

“No?” Mary repeated.

Caicus brought his blue eyes up to her. This time I was absolutely certain that they lightened, just as they had done the night before. It was as though his eyes were frosting over somehow.

“We think we should stay here a little while longer,” he purred.

I spluttered at the audacity.

But Mary simply reached over and patted Caicus’s hands warmly. “If you think that’s best, dear.”

Caicus nodded his head earnestly. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Mary.”

I stared at him, wide eyed.
How is he doing this?

Unlike me, Mary didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She trotted away to get baby Zack ready for his trip to Hutton Ridge. Only Oscar, Caicus and myself remained in the kitchen.

“How did you do that?” I demanded.

Caicus and Oscar turned their perfect poker faces upon me.

“Do what?” Caicus asked.

“You know what!” I slammed my palm against the wooden breakfast table. “Trick my aunt into letting you stay.”

The boys made an over-the-top show of appearing affronted by my remark.

“
Trick
her?” Caicus gasped. “I would never.”

“Your comments are quite vicious, Rose,” Oscar chimed in. “We are merely two down-on-their-luck boys who are in need of a friendly neighbour.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “Yeah, right,” I hissed. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with your car at all.”

“Are you accusing of us lying?” Caicus exclaimed.

“Yes. Give me your car keys and I’ll prove it.”

The boys laughed whimsically.

“No, thank you,” Oscar replied to me. “We don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I snapped. My temper was really rising.

“We don’t let other people touch our car,” Caicus clarified.

“Especially not girls,” Oscar added with a wicked grin.

I knew I had to get out of the kitchen before I smashed Aunt Mary’s crockery over their pretty little heads.

I held my tongue and stormed out. The truth was that I’d be fighting a losing battle, trying to contend with both of them at once.

“Don’t forget your coat,” I heard Oscar call after me. “It’s going to rain.”

In the hallway, Mary was zipping Zack into his woolly fleece. “Ready, dear?”

I mumbled ‘yes’ as I took my tan jacket from the coat rack. For the record, that was
not
because Oscar had told me to. I was going to do it anyway.

I followed my aunt outside and waited patiently while she settled Zack into his car seat. Before we climbed into the car ourselves, I glanced over at the black Lamborghini parked on the gravel a few metres away. It looked immaculate, apart from a splatter of mud that had dried on the chrome hubcaps.

“I wonder what’s wrong with their car,” I mused. “Looks all right to me.” Planting the seeds of doubt. Good idea.

“You never can tell with cars,” Mary said with a shrug.

“Funny how they managed to get it right up to the front door,” I added pointedly.

“Yes. They were lucky.” Mary took her seat behind the steering wheel and checked Zack in the rear-view mirror. Her hair was out of the rollers now and fell in curls around her full cheeks.

I pulled my seatbelt across. “It’s strange though, don’t you think?”

Mary looked over at me, not quite following my train of thought. “What’s that, dear?”

“The boys. Don’t you think there’s something
off
about them?” I coaxed.

“I think they seem like nice enough boys. Could be a bit of company for you, anyway. Aren’t you glad to have some other teenagers around the house?”

She started the engine and steered the minivan onto the access road. The gravel crunched loudly beneath the weight of the tyres.

I kept silent. Was I judging the Valeros too quickly? And if that was the case, had I fabricated reasons to justify disliking them? It was a possibility that my aunt and uncle were genuinely being neighbourly, and that
I
was the one out of line. I didn’t like that theory, though. But I had to admit, it made a lot more sense than my theory of Caicus hypnotising them.

As we drove along the narrow, snaking road, I found myself thinking of only one thing. 

Oscar Valero.

Who was he? And what could he possibly want in Millwood?

AFTER A LENGTHY AND MONOTONOUS
drive through Millwood, the minivan finally crossed the border into Hutton Ridge. Mary found a parking spot on the main high street and cut the engine.

Hutton Ridge wasn’t exactly thriving. The town centre was made up of a few cobbled streets, scattered with run-of-the-mill shops and the occasional upmarket boutique.

“I have an idea,” Mary announced as she fumbled to unfolded Zack’s pushchair. “How about we go to Amara’s and buy you a new dress?”

Amara’s was one of the most chic clothing stores in Hutton Ridge; everything was designer and everything was overpriced.

I lingered at the car door.
A dress?
I looked down at my jeans with a sentimental sigh.

Mary chortled. “Good heavens, Rose! You’re acting like I’ve asked you to hand over a puppy or something,” she teased. “It’s just a dress. Lots of girls wear them.”

“I suppose…” I pondered it. “It’s just, I don’t really wear dresses that often.”

“That’s because you don’t own any.”

“Yes, and there’s a reason for that.”

“Oh, come on,” Mary tried to entice me. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Um, somebody might see me wearing it.”             

Mary guffawed. She shook her head and set off down the high street, her leather handbag swinging from the handlebars of Zack’s pushchair.

We hadn’t walked far before Mary came to an abrupt halt. She stood outside a small boutique with the word ‘Amara’s’ written above the store in curvy, pink lettering. The two shop windows arched outwards and each displayed a mannequin sporting the latest in designer fashion.

“Shall we?” Mary asked. Without waiting for a response, she pushed open the door and hoisted the buggy through it.

I followed behind her.

The store was relatively small, with glistening beige floors and neatly arranged racks of high-quality clothes. The faint sound of classical music drifted out from a speaker at the back of the shop.

Wasting no time, Mary began sifting through dresses. When she came across ones that met her approval, she snatched them from the rail and thrust them into my arms.

“This one,” she muttered to herself. “Oh,
this
one would look gorgeous on you…” She paused and pinched my waist.

“Ouch!”

“Yes, this’ll fit you,” Mary decided. “You might have to suck in your breath, though.” She dumped another three dresses into my now overflowing arms.

“No more,” I beseeched her, peeking over the top of the mountain of fabric and hangers.

Mary gave me a little shove towards the fitting rooms. “Try those on. I’ll keep looking.”

“Oh, I’m begging you, no,” I exclaimed. “Don’t keep looking!”

She shooed me off into the curtained room at the back of the store.

With a dramatic eye roll, I pulled the red velvet curtain across. The truth was, I didn’t
hate
these outing with Mary. It was fun, in a female-bonding sort of way. My own mother wasn’t the shopping type, and it was kind of nice to get to dip into that lifestyle once in a while.

I offloaded the heap of clothes onto the dressing-room stool.

Only once in a while, though.

This was going to be a long day.

Already critical of the selection, I took the first dress from the pile. It was vibrant orange and knee length, with a net skirt and puffy sleeves. I grappled with the hanger for a while and then changed into the dress.

Yeesh.

I screwed up my nose at the sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror.

“How’s it going?” Mary hollered from the other side of the curtain.

“Awfully,” I called back.

“Why?” my aunt’s voice returned to me.

“Because I look like Mr McGregor’s prize pumpkin.”

There was a brief silence.

“Is that the peach one?”

I snorted. “It’s not peach—it’s pumpkin orange! I’m trying on the next one.”

“You’re not going to let me see you in the peach one?” Mary sounded distinctly wounded.

“No! I’m humiliated enough just seeing myself in it.” I untangled myself from the first monstrosity.

The second dress was no better. A canary yellow satin number with plastic beads along the neckline.

“How’s it going in there?” Mary yelled again, her voice drifting from a different location each time.

“It’s getting worse,” I shouted back.

“Which one are you in?”

“I’m a lemon meringue pie.”

Mary tut-tutted. “Rose, you’re not giving them a fair chance.”

“I am!” I wailed. “I’m in them, aren’t I?” I patted down the inflated skirt.

“You’ve got to let me see some of them,” Mary urged.

I scuffled into the next dress. Halfway through squeezing into it, the dressing room curtain flew open.

Obviously, I shrieked.

In one swift motion, Mary spun me around and yanked up the zipper at the back.

“Oh, that is… That is
fantastic
. That’s the one,” she breathed.

Dazed, I turned to face my reflection in the mirror. 

Mary had been right: the dress itself was stunning. It was a rich mulberry colour, fitted, with a box neckline, and the hem skimming the floor. It was spectacular. But it almost felt too sophisticated for me. I was a first-time wearer, and I was in something that belonged to the pros.

“We’re getting this one,” Mary stated. She promptly spun me around and unzipped the back, then marched out of the dressing room, closing the curtain behind her.