Kisses and Lies (9 page)

And I don’t want to say no.

“I would like to see the lake,” I manage, as if that’s the only reason I’m accepting his invitation. “I haven’t been there since I was little.”

God, this is so embarrassing. It’s like I’m admitting that I want to be alone with him so we can kiss again. Forget looking him in the eye—my head’s ducked so far down now that I can barely see him at all. I know I said that I didn’t think I should hang out with him too much until Dan’s death is resolved, and I mean that one hundred percent. But the trouble is—that’s when I’m not with him. When he’s standing in front of me, asking me out, all my good resolutions melt like I did in his arms the other night.

“Meet me at four by the gate?” he suggests.

“Um, yeah.” I’m torn between giving him a huge smile and dissolving into the ground with utter embarrassment.

I’m more than relieved when I feel Taylor grabbing the back of my tabard and pulling me away—just in time, as Miss Carter’s voice can be heard on the path behind us, telling the girls carrying the net of balls to hurry up and look lively.

“Ohmigod, you have a secret date with a superhot boy!” Taylor mutters.

“I know,” I mutter back. I’m determined not to look over my shoulder to get a last glimpse of him, much as I’m dying to. “I can’t believe he saw me in this stupid tabard.”

Taylor grimaces.

“I know, gross.  .  .  . But hey, he was probably looking at your legs anyway.” She nudges me. “That forward roll you did, he probably saw your panties as well.”

“Don’t say panties! It’s weird and creepy. Say knickers.” I’m blushing all over. I hadn’t thought of Jase seeing my big brown gym knickers (part of the very old-fashioned PE uniform) when I did the forward roll. I was just overcome with a mad desire to show off.

“Jase saw your knickers! Jase saw your knickers!” Taylor chants, till I can’t bear it anymore and scream terrible curses at her, chasing her all the way back to the changing rooms, which at least lets off some of the head of steam that’s building up inside me at the thought of seeing Jase this afternoon by the lake.

That’s not the only head of steam that’s been building up, though. Because I haven’t told Taylor about the letter I sent to Mrs. McAndrew yesterday. I didn’t know if she would think it was a good idea, but that’s not why I didn’t tell her.

It’s more clear now than ever that I’m leaning on Taylor way too much. She did all the hard work of getting Plum’s phone and sorting out that video clip. She even thought of sending the incriminating evidence back to herself, which is probably why she makes a good partner. Taylor’s always right there, more than eager to help, and maybe, lucky as I am to have a friend like her, I’m coming to rely on her so much that I can’t do anything on my own.

I know Taylor’s motives are only the best: she wants to be a PI, so this is great practice. She’s bored to death here at Wakefield Hall, and helping me is a great adventure. And, now that we’ve become close, she wants me to solve the mystery of Dan’s death for my own sake.

But I never asked Taylor to help me. She saw there was some secret I was trying to unravel, barged right in, and, I must admit, saved me from a fate worse than death—being busted by my terrifying form teacher when I was totally out of bounds. Still, I never chose to have her as a partner: she just started acting like one. And more and more, I’m worried that because she’s so good at it, because she may well be better than me, I’m not proving to myself that, if Taylor wasn’t around, I could handle this on my own.

Could I even have got this far without her? I don’t know. And that’s a very scary thought, because if I don’t know, what does that say about me? Doesn’t it mean that I’m not as clever and strong and brave as I think I am, or want to be? If we really are all on our own in the end, then I have to fight my own battles, don’t I? The really important ones, at least.

Right now, I think that the more I, and only I, am responsible for finding out who killed Dan and why, the more I’ll feel that I’ve earned the right to move on and put it all behind me. And moving on from Dan’s death is the single most important thing in my life.

I can’t consult with Taylor on every single thing. She’s so strong and confident, she could take everything over without even meaning to. This is my investigation, my fight, and I need to take control.

But I know she won’t see it that way.

BALANCING ACT

“It’s so beautiful,” I say breathlessly. “I haven’t been here for years and years.”

I can’t see Jase, who’s closing the gate behind us, but I can hear a lilt in his voice as he says, “Yeah, it’s lovely, in-nit? Seems a shame that nobody gets to use it. Your gran comes here sometimes. Oops, sorry”—he corrects himself as he comes up to stand next to me—“Lady Wakefield, I should say.”

I giggle. “No, it’s fine. She gets cross with me when I don’t call her that too.”

Jase stares at me incredulously. “Your gran makes you call her Lady Wakefield?”

I pull a face. “In term time, yeah. She says if I don’t, discipline will slip.”

“Right. Your gran could be in a coma and she still wouldn’t let discipline slip.” Jase gives a belly laugh.

It’s horribly true. But looking at Jase, standing on the little slope that leads down to the glittering surface of the lake, thoughts of my grandmother mercifully fade from my mind; the excitement of the moment is too much for me to think about anything negative. It’s a glorious autumn day, and the oak trees around the lake are deep shades of russet and gold, like quiet fires. The weeping willows dipping into the water are exactly as I remember them, their branches bending so elegantly they look like dancers leaning over the water. And the lake itself, with its central fountain of leaping dolphins, is one of the most calming sights I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s something about still water shining in the sun that instantly makes you feel peaceful.

Or it would, if I didn’t have Jase standing next to me, and every nerve ending in my body wasn’t jumping, wondering when he’s going to kiss me again.  .  .  .

“We used to go out boating on the lake,” I remember. “Me and my dad.”

“The boathouse is over there,” Jase says, pointing to a small building in the same gray stone as the balustrade that runs around the border of the lake.

“Oh yeah. Wow, everything looks so much smaller now.”

“How old were you when you came here with your dad?”

“Only about four.”

“No wonder it seems smaller now, eh?” he says. And, to my surprise, I feel him taking my hand. “You miss them a lot, do you? Your parents?”

I don’t know how to answer this. No one’s asked me that question that I can remember. I’m amazed that Jase is asking it, actually. And I’m really touched.

I clear my throat.

“I can’t say I miss them, I suppose. They died when I was very little. I think I’ve sort of made up memories from looking at photos, if you know what I mean. But I miss having parents. My life would be so different if they were alive.”

Jase squeezes my hand.

“And I can see from the photos that they loved me,” I say, to my horror. Why am I telling him this? Tears are pricking at my eyes as I say the words. “So, um, that would be nice.”

I mustn’t cry. I mustn’t cry. I’m sounding pathetic enough as it is. I stare ahead, blinking fast and breathing deeply, and manage, just about, to get my tears under control.

“I’m really sorry,” Jase says after a few moments. “I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“No, it’s okay.” I take another deep breath. “No one ever does ask about my parents, so I liked that you did.”

“Can’t be much fun for you, living with old Scratchface,” Jase says.

I turn to look at him, feeling safe to do that now I’ve got my tears under control.

“What did you call her?”

He grins at me, unabashed. “Old Scratchface. Your aunt. That’s what I used to call her when I was little. I was never allowed onto the Hall grounds proper—we had to keep to our garden. But I used to sneak in sometimes, to explore, and God, wouldn’t she tear me off a strip if she caught me! I used to have nightmares about her, tell you the truth.”

I giggle. “Scratchface,” I say appreciatively. “That’s perfect for Aunt Gwen.” I realize something. “That’s why we never met before, when we were little. Because you weren’t allowed anywhere on the grounds. I never even knew there was another kid here.”

“I knew about you,” Jase says. “Saw you wandering all over the place, actually. But I never let you see me when I was exploring, because then I’d really get into trouble. With my dad too. No fraternizing with the Wakefields, they’re too posh for the likes of us, that’s what he always said.”

Oh dear—Jase has mentioned his dad. I can tell he didn’t mean to, not after the incident a couple of nights ago, but now he’s all tensed. He must still be embarrassed about it, because his hand slips out of mine. It’s my turn to feel sorry for him about his parents.

Sensing that we need to change the subject to something a lot lighter, I walk down the slope to the edge of the lake, and jump up onto the balustrade. It’s only about a foot high, and wide enough to walk along easily.

“I wish we could come here more,” I say wistfully. “We could buy some boats and row, or punt, or something.”

Jase runs down the slope and jumps up next to me.

“It’s all health and safety now, isn’t it?” he says, reaching for my hand again, his momentary gloom forgotten. “You can’t do anything, because if something went wrong somebody would sue you.”

“That’s really stupid,” I say.

“Well, maybe you should change things. Talk to your gran.” Jase looks at me. “This’ll all be yours one day—you should have some say in what goes on.”

I goggle at him.

“I can’t even think about that right now.” I stare over the lake. I suppose I will own all of this one day. But the responsibility feels completely overwhelming like a huge coat thrown over my shoulders, one that’s much too heavy for me, and I can barely stand up in it, let alone walk.

“Sorry,” Jase says, squeezing my hand. “I just completely freaked you out, didn’t I?”

I nod.

“Scarlett—”

It’s so nice hearing him say my name that I involuntarily turn to him and smile. The sun is behind me, and the sunlight melts in his eyes, turning their amber into liquid pools of gold. Just like the sunlight, I melt looking at him. His hand clasping mine is warm and strong, and on his palm I can feel the calluses from all the gardening he’s been doing. He raises his other hand to shade his eyes from the sun, and I say, idiotically:

“It’s very bright, isn’t it?”

Jase just smiles. He takes a step toward me, and I find myself taking one toward him, till we’re nearly touching. He lowers his head, and I tilt mine up. It’s like a dance, we’re so smoothly choreographed. His lips touch mine and we kiss, very gently. My heart bounces in my chest as if Taylor were playing basketball with it. We drop each other’s hands—again, just as if we were choreographed. I reach my arms up to his neck and Jase’s arms lock around my waist. We pull each other closer. Our feet shift, and Jase must have gone a little off the edge of the balustrade, because he wobbles, which makes me wobble. The next thing I know we’ve torn our arms away from each other, because we need them to balance with.

I’m okay—if there’s anything I’m used to after years of gymnastics, it’s balancing, and the balustrade is much, much wider than a balance beam. But Jase actually teeters for a couple of seconds, his arms flailing wildly in the air, and I can’t help it—I start giggling. And this one isn’t a girl-to-boy giggle, it’s a full-on, you-look-silly giggle.

In an effort not to fall into the lake, Jase leans way over to the other side, so far he overbalances and has to jump back down onto the grass again. He stands there looking up at me, and I can see he’s a bit cross. I try to stop laughing.

“Sorry,” I say. “You just looked a bit funny.”

“I’m a lot taller than you,” he says grumpily. “It’s harder to balance when you’re taller.”

I jump down too, not wanting him to stay grumpy.

“I did balance beam for a long time,” I say, hoping this will salve his wounded pride. “I can balance on anything.”

“Oh really?” His face creases into a huge smile. “Come on, then!”

He grabs my hand and pulls me into a run. We tear across the grass, around the wide curve of the lake, past a drooping cluster of weeping willows trailing their leaves in the water, all the way round to the far side, where a large and majestic oak is standing close to the water’s edge.

Jase grabs a branch and swings himself up, finding knotholes in the trunk with his feet. I can tell he’s climbed this tree many times before, because he knows the way up as easily as if he were climbing a ladder. I’m right behind him, careful to avoid his feet. Wow, men’s feet are so enormous—Jase’s, in his trainers, look like boats. He reaches a fork and straddles it, reaching down a hand to help me up. But I don’t take it.

“I’m fine,” I say, grasping a branch above me and letting it take all my weight as I walk up the trunk to a branch I can stand on.

“You don’t need me, do you?” he says, and there’s disappointment in his voice as well as grudging approval.

I’m supposed to need him, I realize. I’m not supposed to be strong enough to climb this big tree on my own. But I didn’t want to take his hand, I wanted to do it all by myself. Ricky, our gymnastics coach, would only spot you if you really needed it; he’d watch you like a hawk to make sure you were okay, but he would never just help you for the sake of helping you. But then, Ricky was our coach. Whereas Jase might, maybe, one day, be my boyfriend. Big difference.

And maybe it’s nice that someone who might one day be your boyfriend wants to help you?

But by now I’m standing on the branch, so it’s too late. I smile at him, and thank goodness, he smiles back.

“That’s the one,” he says, grinning. “Want to try balancing properly? I used to walk along that when I was smaller.”

I look down the branch where it grows away from the tree. Wide and sturdy-looking, it reaches out over the water. Wow. That would be exciting.

“Is this a challenge?” I ask.

“Yeah. I thought I heard you just say you could balance on anything,” he says, his eyes glinting.

“Okay,” I say, “what do I get if I do it?”

“Anything you want.”

“And what do you get if I don’t do it?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

“You have to kiss me.”

“Ewww!” I say. “Yuck! I don’t want to have to do that!”

For the first time, I’m allowing myself to really enjoy this. The teasing and the flirting. It’s even more fun than it looks in films and on TV, because in real life, you have to come up with the dialogue yourself, and there’s a whole adrenaline charge in trying to be funny and clever and sort of sexy, pushing someone away to bring them closer.

Which is what I’m doing now. I could tell that when I said, even teasingly, I didn’t want to kiss Jase, that made him want to kiss me more. He’s sitting in the fork of the tree, legs wide, leaves dangling past his face, one arm curled round a branch, grinning at me, and I put my chin in the air and stand up straight, take a deep breath and let it out—you should never hold your breath while balancing, it makes the body nervous—turn my back to him, and set out along the branch.

I wish I weren’t wearing trainers. I’m used to balancing in bare feet, and the trainers don’t let you feel the surface beneath you half as well.

An overhanging branch. I duck my head and move beneath it, slow steady steps, and as I emerge the full panorama of the lake is stretched out before me, silver water shining in the sun. I wish the marble fountain in the center were switched on. There’s something so lovely about water playing in a fountain. But the sight is still beautiful enough to make me catch my breath. I stand there, soaking it in. And a warm rush of pride fills me. This is the Wakefield Hall lake, on Wakefield Hall grounds, and one day, probably, it will be all mine. I can’t imagine my grandmother leaving it to Aunt Gwen—she’s so mean to Aunt Gwen, making her live in the tiny gatehouse, treating her like just another teacher.

I would feel sorrier for Aunt Gwen if she weren’t so mean to me in her turn.

I’m a Wakefield, I think, and this is where I belong. My great-great-grandfather built this lake, and one day, maybe, I’ll inherit it. And if I do, I’ll turn the fountains on every day and watch water shoot out of the dolphins’ mouths and up into the sky—

“What the hell is going on?”

Totally shocked, I jump and nearly topple into the water.

I look down. There’s a man standing below me, hands on his hips. His face is bright red with rage: he’s glaring up at me, his eyes squinched into puffy slits of fury. I know who he is by the sound of his angry voice and his stance, his hands in fists by his side. But I would never have guessed otherwise that he was Jase’s dad. He doesn’t look anything like him. Nothing at all.

“Dad!” Jase yells. “It’s Scarlett! She’s—”

But Mr. Barnes totally ignores him.

“You get down from there right away, you little tart!” he screams while reaching up and grabbing the lower leaves of the branch I’m standing on. Then he does his best to shake it.

Mr. Barnes must be mad, I think. Completely mad to do something this stupid. Because even someone as trained and as skilled as I am at the balance beam can’t possibly stay upright while some maniac is shaking the branch I’m standing on. In a split second, I assess my options. I can’t run back down the branch, not with him shaking it. If I fall backward, I could crack my head open, or land on the ground and really hurt myself. The only safe thing to do is  .  .  .