I Knew You Were Trouble: A Jessie Jefferson Novel (10 page)

I give a little shrug, not really knowing what to say.

‘Has anything happened with him?’ she asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

I was hoping not to have to spill the beans to Libby about him because, while I trust her not to say anything to Amanda about Johnny, it seems a little trite asking her to keep quiet about my
love life, too.

‘Kind of. Nothing much,’ I add, trying to put her off. It doesn’t work.

‘Like what?’ she whispers conspiratorially.

‘We went to the movies.’ I try to sound casual.

‘Did you kiss him?’ she asks gleefully.

‘Libby,’ I reply with a frown. The gesture is contagious because she looks instantly put out.

‘What, so now we can’t even talk about boys? I won’t tell Amanda, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Now I feel bad. ‘It’s not that,’ I say, as we walk out of the classroom. ‘It’s just early days,’ I add with an embarrassed look. ‘I’m meeting him
for lunch.’

She purses her lips. ‘Well, good for you.’

I smile awkwardly. ‘Er, thanks. See you later?’

‘Of course.’

That
was uncomfortable, I think, as we turn away from each other.

Lou and I lie on our stomachs with our legs kicked up in the air, occasionally checking over our shoulders for the boys. They must’ve gone to the cafeteria before coming
to the field. I tell her about my awkward conversation with Libby.

We’re so engrossed in what we’re talking about that we don’t see Tom and Chris approach. When a pair of grey Converse trainers appears in my vision, I crane my neck to see Tom
smiling down at me.

‘Alright?’ he says, collapsing on the grass beside me. Chris strikes up a conversation with Lou about the merits of the cafeteria’s potato wedges over fries, and Tom and I
smile at each other. He holds my gaze for a couple of seconds and I suddenly feel a little shy. I crawl to a sitting position.

‘You’ve got—’ he says, reaching over to dust dry grass from the front of my school uniform.

‘Oh,’ I say, brushing my chest, then meeting his eyes again.

‘How was Libby’s yesterday?’

‘It was OK,’ I reply self-consciously. ‘We didn’t get much time to talk before Amanda came over.’

‘Didn’t you and Libby used to be best mates?’

‘Yeah. Not so much any more,’ I admit. ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?’ I ask, diverting him from that particular topic.

His warm brown eyes crinkle as he gives an amused nod. ‘It is.’

‘Are you doing anything?’

‘Just going out for dinner with my mum and sister.’

‘Your sister’s name is Becky, right? She’s a few years older than you?’ She used to go to school here.

‘Three,’ he replies. ‘I’m surprised you remember her.’

I know more about Tom than I care to admit. But no need to sound like a psycho this early on in the relationship.

‘Is she at uni?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, Edinburgh. But she hasn’t gone back yet.’

‘Do you miss her?’

‘I did last year.’ He nods. I bet he missed her loads when his dad left. ‘But I’ve had her around all summer so I’m ready to get rid of her again now,’ he
adds with a smile.

‘So are you not doing anything for your birthday with friends?’

‘Nah.’ He shakes his head. ‘Can’t really be bothered. What are you up to this weekend?’ he asks.

‘Nothing yet.’

‘You want to hang out on Saturday?’

‘Sure.’ We smile at each other.

‘What happened to your job at the clothes shop?’ he asks.

‘I had to quit when I stayed out in America for the summer. Stu called my boss for me, bless him.’

‘Are you going to get another one?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe. But it’s nice having my Saturdays free at the moment.’ I don’t tell him that I don’t really need a job, now that Johnny is giving me an
allowance.

‘Why don’t we go to Windsor for the day?’

‘That’s sounds great,’ I smile.

‘What’s this?’ Chris interrupts. He and Lou have been talking together since Tom sat down. While he fills them in, my attention is distracted by Nina, Michelle and their
friends, staring over at us and gossiping. I don’t know if they’re talking about Tom and me or if they’re being bitchy about Johnny again, but my heart rate picks up once more.
The secret won’t be mine for much longer.

With every day that passes by without my identity being revealed, I relax a little more. My heart jumps on Thursday when Johnny calls me, and my immediate thought is that he
has bad news to break, but he’s only calling to say goodbye. They fly home to America the following morning. I’ll be in Geography class.

‘Look after yourself, chick,’ he says. ‘Stay out of trouble.’

‘I’m making no promises,’ I reply, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. It’s weird that I feel this strongly about him after such a short amount of time.

‘Hey, I’ve got to tell you something,’ he says tentatively.

‘What?’ I ask warily.

‘My dad’s coming home with us for a bit.’

‘Oh,’ I reply quietly.

‘I know you wanted to go and visit him, so I’m sorry about that.’

‘Yeah.’ I don’t really know what else to say. I was happy that a part of my new family would be here with me in the UK.

He continues. ‘It’ll probably be for a few weeks, maybe a month, maybe longer.’ There’s regret in his tone. He knows this isn’t what I want to hear.
‘He’d like somewhere warm to recuperate. I think LA will do him good.’

‘Yes. For sure,’ I say feebly, not wanting to be too selfish.

‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ he adds in a gentle voice. ‘The next few months will fly by.’

‘Here’s hoping.’

Neither of us speaks for a long moment. I swallow, but the lump remains. I can’t believe all of the Jeffersons will be on the other side of the pond. All of them, except for me.

‘Hey, how did your date go the other night?’ he asks, opting for a different topic of conversation.

‘It was good,’ I reply lamely.

‘Did you kiss him?’

‘Johnny!’ I exclaim.

He chuckles, then sighs. ‘Ah, I wish you’d call me Dad.’

He may as well have lit me up with a torch because, in that moment, everything feels brighter.

‘Do you?’ I ask, my insides singing. I’ve never called anyone ‘Dad’.

‘Yeah,’ he replies casually.

‘OK,
Dad
.’ I force myself to say it, but it makes me immediately giggle.

He laughs, too. ‘I’ll call you when we land,’ he promises.

‘OK.’ I smile.

‘See you—’

‘No, wait!’ I interrupt him. ‘I won’t be in.’

‘Where will you be?’ he asks.

‘I’m going out with To m again,’ I admit.

‘
Again?
’ I can completely picture the frown on his face.

‘Yeah,
Dad
. He’s a nice guy. You’d like him.’

‘Would I now.’ It’s not a question. ‘I’m not sure about your taste,’ he says drily.

‘You haven’t even met him!’ I exclaim.

‘I met Jack Mitchell. That was enough to go on.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m not interested in him any more,’ I say, as my heart deflates. ‘And Tom is much nicer. Ask Stu, he’ll tell you.’

‘I might just do that.’

I smirk. ‘I’m not bluffing. Ask him.’

He chuckles. ‘Alright, I will. Next time we speak.’

We ring off and I sit and stare into space for a while before pulling myself together.

I go out with Natalie on Friday night, resisting the urge to drag her to the pub where Tom is. He’s playing pool with a few mates, he told me earlier. He thought
he’d celebrate his birthday with some friends after all.

I didn’t give him a present on Wednesday, but I did slip a card into his bag, which made him smile. I agonised for ages about what to write, eventually settling on how I was looking
forward to Saturday and that lunch was on me. It all sounded pretty lame, but I think he was pleased. I hope so, anyway.

We haven’t kissed all week. We’ve barely touched. But I know he likes me, and he must know that I like him. I can’t wait to spend a whole day with him.

On Saturday, when I arrive at the station, Tom is already waiting.

‘Hello,’ he says, as I wander up to him with a smile on my face.

‘Hello,’ I reply, my heart fluttering. Even though we’re alone, we still don’t kiss, but he takes my hand when we’re sitting side by side on the train and I’m
glad he’s starting off the day by being tactile.

‘You look nice,’ he says. I’m wearing an apricot-coloured, strapless maxi-dress with the black leather jacket Johnny bought for me in LA. ‘I like this.’ He skims
his fingers round the cuff of my jacket.

‘Thanks.’ I don’t tell him that it’s designer. ‘You too.’

He’s wearing light-grey cords and a long-sleeved navy-blue T-shirt. He looks hot, as usual.

Once we’re off the train, we walk hand in hand along the old-fashioned platform and wind our way through to the road and the grey stone walls of Windsor Castle.

‘Have you ever been inside?’ I ask him.

‘Yes, when I was little. You want to go in now?’ he asks.

‘Sure.’

It’s more expensive than I remembered, and Tom and I have a little domestic about who’s going to pay. Eventually he agrees to let me cover it as part of his birthday present, but he
insists on buying lunch. We’ll have that argument later.

The truth is, thanks to Johnny, I’ve now got more money than I can spend. The allowance he’s giving me covers anything I want, although I can’t fritter away too much without
drawing attention to myself. Stu thinks I should go back to work just to keep up appearances, but I’m not keen on that idea, especially now I’m seeing Tom.

We kill a couple of hours until lunch and then head down to the river with a picnic from M&S. The air is cool but not cold, and we sit on a grassy riverbank and watch as families feed the
massive horde of squawking ducks and hissing swans. We chat as we eat – about his family, and school – and he asks me about the ribbing Nina and Michelle have been giving me this
week.

‘Now they’re on at me about you,’ I tell him, discarding my half-eaten sandwich.

‘Are they? In what way?’

‘They think I’ve got the hots for you.’

‘Don’t you?’ he asks with a grin.

‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,’ I say boldly, which makes him laugh and wrap his arm round my neck, engulfing me in his warmth. I smile up at him and he presses his
lips gently to mine once, twice, three times, before our teeth knock together as we smile. We laugh lightly and pull apart, but that’s it: the ice has been broken and we spend the rest of the
day kissing and cuddling.

Tom invites me back to his house later that afternoon. It’s pretty soon to be meeting each other’s families – even though he’s already well acquainted
with Stu from school, of course – but he’s keen for me to say hi to his mum.

He lives in a large, four-bedroomed detached house on a tree-lined street with its own private driveway and a red brick wall out the front.
It’s a far cry from my shabby terrace
, I
muse, as Tom unlocks the front door.

A tall, slim, blonde woman appears in the hall the moment we step over the threshold.

‘You’re back!’ she exclaims.

‘Hi, Mum. This is Jessie,’ Tom says casually, motioning for me to come forward.

‘Oh!’ She looks surprised to see me. ‘Hello there,’ she says pleasantly, quickly recovering. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Jessie. I’m Caroline. Have you
two had a good day?’

‘Great, thank you,’ I reply politely, hovering slightly behind Tom. I’m not normally this shy.

‘Is Becky around?’ Tom asks.

‘No, she’s gone into town, but she’ll be back for dinner. Is Jessie staying?’ she asks.

Tom gives me a questioning look.

‘You’re very welcome to,’ she adds. ‘Chicken casserole. There’s plenty to go around.’

‘If you’re sure that’s OK?’ I say, finding this whole scenario a tiny bit excruciating. I’ve never had dinner at a boy’s house before. Not when it’s
just me, like this. I met Jack’s parents in LA – individually because they’ve split up – but they were very laid-back. And anyway Jack’s older. Eighteen. It seemed to
me that they let him get away with murder.
Why am I thinking about Jack?
I try and concentrate.

‘Cool,’ Tom says, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. ‘We’ll be upstairs.’

‘It’ll be about half an hour,’ his mum tells us as we head towards the staircase.

‘Thanks,’ I reply, following Tom. As we walk up, it occurs to me that he’s done this plenty of times before – with other girls, I mean. I don’t think I know of any
length of time that he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend. Before Isla there was Beatrice, before Beatrice there was Maria, and I can’t remember the name of the one before her, but there
definitely was one.

With all of these thoughts flying around, I don’t feel that comfortable when we go into his room and he pushes the door to, not quite closing it. His room is huge and it smells of him, of
his aftershave-slash-deodorant. His walls are covered with posters: his favourite football players, and I immediately see Taylor Swift, Lana Del Ray and Katy Perry, all looking smoking hot and less
than efficiently covered with clothing. Humph. I also notice he has a few posters of bands and artists that I like, including cool graphically designed ones for Arcade Fire and Jack White.

I try to ignore Katy’s impressively sparkly rack as I go to sit on his bed. It hasn’t escaped my notice that it’s a double. I wonder if Isla was allowed to stay over. I’m
sure they were having sex, and I hate the thought of her being here.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks, noting my expression. He sits down a little away from me, swivelling to face me so his leg is resting on the bed.

‘I’m fine,’ I reply, tucking my hair behind my ears. Then I continue before I can stop myself: ‘I haven’t been in too many boys’ rooms before.’ His eyes
widen. How mortifying. I try to laugh it off, but then a memory of making out with Jack on his bed comes back to me and my face heats up. Double my mortification factor. Things got a little hot and
heavy with Jack – and way faster than they should’ve done. Stop thinking about him, dammit!

‘Have you?’ I find myself asking.