Mesmeris (2 page)

We pooled our money.

‘Your hands are shaking, Pearly,’ Jess said. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine.’ Why hadn’t I straightened my hair, or at least put on some mascara? I could just imagine how I looked – washed-out, pale skin, hair like a dark, tatty mop stuck on top of my head. Next to man-magnet Abbi and lovely Jess, with her well-behaved hair and normal eyes, I had no chance.

‘I’ll get those.’ His hand came over my shoulder as he gave the barman a twenty-pound note.

‘Oh, thanks,’ Abbi said.

I sidled past him, eyes lowered, aware of the warmth of his skin, skin that was terrifyingly close to mine. I felt his breath on my hair. My wobbly legs held out until I reached a table - just. I sat down and closed my eyes. He was staring at me. I took my phone out and pretended to text, tried to stop my eyes moving from the screen. I didn’t want to see Abbi flirt with him, couldn’t bear to see him fall for her like every other boy.

‘What’s up, Pearl?’ Jess plonked the drinks on the table.

‘Nothing.’

He stood at the bar and watched me. I couldn’t believe it. Then I realised he must be looking at something behind me. That made sense. That would be just bloody typical. I turned around. Nothing. Just faded, beige, flock wallpaper.

‘His name’s Jack,’ Abbi said.

‘You shouldn’t have let him pay,’ I said. ‘He’ll think we owe him something.’

‘Don’t be soft,’ she said. ‘Look at his coat. He can afford it.’

I didn’t look up, could feel his eyes on me. I knew it was a Crombie, anyway – grey with a black velvet collar – one like my dad wore in that photo from the eighties, when he was a mod.

‘D’you know him?’ Jess said. ‘Cos it looks like he knows you.’

‘No.’

‘Then I think you’ve pulled,’ Abbi said.

‘Shut up, Abbi.’

‘Honestly, look at him.’

‘Abbi – please, shut up.’ My hair prickled with sweat.

‘He hasn’t taken his eyes off you,’ Jess said. ‘Kind of creepy if you ask me.’

‘Creepy, my arse,’ Abbi said. ‘About time someone decent appreciated Pearl’s kooky beauty. Not sure he’ll settle for one of your hand jobs though.’

‘For God’s
sake
,’ I said, a wave of heat rising up my face.

She carried on, oblivious. ‘Shame his mates didn't come in. We could've had one each.’

I glanced up and he smiled at me. God, he was beautiful. I don’t even know if I smiled back or not.

A big guy in a stained, white overall delivered our food but the thought of eating it made me gag. I picked at it, moved it around the plate, while the girls ate theirs.

‘Oh, shit,’ Abbi said, as she shovelled a last piece of burger into her rosebud mouth. ‘Look who’s here.’

Tipper stood in the doorway, no doubt for effect. White-blond hair lit from behind, pale, ice-cold, blue eyes, like some kind of demonic angel. He was no angel, though. Just a bog-standard yob like the rest of his gang. The others pushed through the door behind him. Menace emanated from them. Not only the body language, the way they strutted through the room like they owned the place, but something else, something as real as the wind and just as obvious.

They weren’t in our class, thank God, and barely noticed us. We did our best to keep it that way.

They stood at the bar, next to Jack.

‘Right, guys,’ the barman said. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Four pints - Stella,’ Tipper said.

A few customers drained their drinks and left. The barman pulled four pints and placed them on the bar.

One of Tipper’s lot, Collins, gave Abbi the once-over and nodded. He was the best looking of them all - tall, athletic, and dark-skinned but Abbi just rolled her eyes and looked away.

‘Bitch,’ he said, and turned back to the bar.

‘What’s up?’ Tipper said.

Collins nodded at our table.
Great! So much for not getting noticed
.

Tipper looked over. ‘Blonde?’

Collins nodded.

Tipper picked up his drink.

‘Oh, God!’ All three of us said together.

‘Leave it, Tip,’ Collins said.

But Tipper wasn’t the type of person to ‘leave it’. He swaggered over. His mouth smiled at Abbi. ‘My friend,’ he gestured at the bar, ‘wants to buy you a drink. Don’t know why, ‘cause you look like a dog to me.’

Nice
.

Jenkins, Tipper’s weasely sidekick, giggled.

Abbi shook her head. ‘I don’t . . .’

Tipper held his hand up and stopped her. ‘Collie here is going to buy you a drink.’ He put his hands on the table, fingers splayed, and leaned right over into Abbi’s face. ‘And then
you
are going to do him a favour.’ He winked. ‘Got it?’

‘Piss off.’ Abbi’s voice had lost its usual spark, despite the words.

Tipper lifted his hand as if he was going to hit her. Without thinking, I put my arm up to block him, and pushed him away.

Jess gasped, Abbi’s mouth dropped open - complete silence in the bar.

Tipper stared at his arm, then turned his icy gaze on me. ‘You touched me,’ he said, as if no one had ever touched him before. ‘Who the fuck
are
you?’

My voice had completely disappeared. Every atom in my body vibrated.

‘That’s Pearl Miller,’ Collins said.

‘Well Pearl
Miller
needs to learn some respect.’ Tipper frowned. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I know you. You’re the vicar’s kid.’ He smiled and turned to his mates. ‘Even better. Why settle for a dog when you can have a holy cow?’ He turned back to me. ‘Tell you what, Miller - we’ll buy
you
a drink – and then you can do us
all
a favour.’

Like hell. I licked my dry lips. ‘I don’t want a drink.’ I wanted it to sound strong, brave. Instead, it came out as a feeble squeak.

Behind Tipper’s back, I saw Jack move towards us. Not a good idea.

Tipper pointed a finger in my face. ‘You’re having - a drink.’

‘Oi, pal,’ Jack said, ‘are you deaf?’

Shit! Shit!

Tipper looked back over his shoulder.

‘She said she doesn’t want a drink,’ Jack said.

‘It’s fine,’ I said, in my new squeaky voice. ‘I’ll have a drink.’

Tipper ignored me. He straightened up, said nothing – terrifying silence.

‘Deaf
and
dumb,’ Jack said.

One side of Tipper’s mouth opened in a kind of laugh. ‘You don’t know who you’re talking to –
pal
.’

‘Let me guess. Small town thug – mummy’s boy. Am I close?’

‘Spot on,’ Abbi said.

Jess slid down into her seat. ‘Crap!’

Tipper walked towards Jack, inclined his ear. ‘What d’you say?’

Jack’s lip twitched as if he found it amusing, idiot boy.

Tipper slammed the heel of his hand into Jack’s shoulder, spilled his drink down his coat.

I stood up. ‘Stop it.’

Jess pulled me down again. ‘Leave them to it.’

Jack brushed the beer off. ‘You’ll pay for that,’ he said.

Tipper moved up close. Jack didn’t budge. They stood, millimetres apart, eyes locked together.

‘Let’s call the police,’ I said.

‘And tell them what?’ Abbi said. ‘Two guys are staring at each other in a pub?’

The barman appeared. ‘Lads, no trouble please. Settle your arguments outside.’

Tipper slammed his hand into Jack’s shoulder again, shoved him backwards. Jack’s back hit the counter with a thud. More of his drink splashed onto the floor. The glasses on the bar crashed together.

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ the barman said, each hey louder than the last. ‘Enough.’ He opened the hatch, stood between them, and pointed at Tipper. ‘You lot, out – NOW!’

Tipper snorted. ‘Brave man, are you?’

The barman held both hands up. ‘Or we can call the police – up to you.’

‘Fine.’ Tipper stared at Jack. ‘We’ll sort this later.’

Jack smiled.

Tipper kicked a chair over on his way out, so Jenkins did the same, a slim, dark shadow of his master.

I’d been holding my breath. I let it out and collapsed back into my seat.

‘Thanks,’ Abbi called, as Jack moved back to the bar.

He smiled at her, downed his drink, and walked out.

What the hell was wrong with me? It should have been
me
who said thank you. Two little words – so easy - and I couldn’t even manage a smile.

CHAPTER THREE

We left the pub at four o’clock. Abbi and Jess set off for the shops but I wanted to go home, have a bath and watch TV – pretend everything was normal.

The street outside the pub was almost deserted, but they were there again, Jack and the other two. Across the road this time, leaning against the wall of what used to be the library. Tipper hadn’t got him, after all, then. Relief made me smile but Jack wasn’t looking. The one in the Parka lit a rollie. I thought about going over, saying thank you, but I was afraid of making an idiot of myself. Jack showed no sign he recognised me, anyway. His gaze slid over me and away again. He said something to the one in the leather coat and the three of them laughed.

So, Abbi had been wrong – surprise, surprise. I should have known better than to believe it. I walked away, quickened my pace.

We lived on the outskirts of town - ten, fifteen minutes’ walk from the pub. My usual route went through the park. It seemed safer to stay near the houses this time, in case Tipper was still hanging about.

‘Hello.’ Jack must have run to catch me up.

‘Hi.’ My whole body shook. Excitement, I suppose, but it felt more like fear. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets, willed myself to stay calm.

‘Pearl, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’

‘John Armytage Cooper.’ He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

I shook his hand, feeling idiotic.

‘You may call me Jack, if you like,’ he said, in a fake posh voice.

I wasn’t sure if he was being funny or not. ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘and thanks for - you know, earlier.’

‘My pleasure.’

I risked a look at his face. His smile looked genuine, his eyes warm.

‘You should be careful,’ I said.

‘I’m not scared of a bunch of schoolboys.’

‘Well, you should be,’ I said. ‘Tipper’s mental. They’re all mental – and you’re not exactly,’ I looked him over, ‘not exactly muscly, are you?’

‘Excuse me?’ He stood back, mouth open in fake shock.

I laughed. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’ll have you know,’ he said, ‘beneath this weedy exterior, I happen to be immensely strong.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Another excuse to look him over. Slim but not too skinny, tall, broad shoulders. Gorgeous – just about perfect, in fact. ‘If you say so.’

Some girls from Lydia’s class watched us from over the road. I glared at them. They looked away and giggled, hands over their mouths.

‘You know them?’ he said.

‘My sister does.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Does it bother you – them seeing us together?’

‘No,’ I said. Him saying ‘us together’ felt good, felt really good.

‘Cause I thought maybe you’d like to go - on a little detour.’

‘Detour?’ I couldn’t stop my mouth smiling back at him.

‘Unless,’ he raised his eyebrows, ‘you’re scared I’ll corrupt you.’

His words did ridiculous things to my body. I looked away, feigned interest in somebody’s tulips.

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘beneath this cowardly exterior I happen to be immensely brave.’

He had a beautiful laugh.

He seemed older than me, mainly because of the shadows around his eyes. His skin was pale and smooth, his eyes deep blue, his mouth – I stopped staring at his mouth because he caught me looking.

‘It won’t be dark for a while,’ he said, with a slow smile.

I knew it wasn’t true but reckless excitement filled my head and dulled my brain. After the murder and with all the other weird stuff going on, it would have been sensible to say no but I was tired of being sensible, bored with it. I wanted adventure, wanted what everyone else seemed to have – a life. So, I went with him.

We walked up ‘the track’ - an old railway line, relic of the industrial revolution, long since abandoned and overgrown. Dad had warned us not to venture up there but he also warned us not to drink too much, take drugs, play with matches, blah, blah, blah.

The narrow path ran through a copse of trees. Jack walked in front in silence, staring straight ahead and I wondered if he wished he hadn’t brought me. I tried to think of something interesting to say but my brain seemed to have switched off. As the silence dragged on, I began to panic. If I didn’t think of something soon, I was going to have to talk about the weather. Then he stopped and pointed at a tiny bird like a ball of fluff, its tail sticking straight up behind it as it bustled about in the undergrowth.

‘What is it?’ I said.

‘A wren.’

I stood and watched it for a moment - such a sweet little bird.

‘They weigh the same as a pound coin,’ he said.

‘How d’you know that?’

He frowned. ‘Don’t know.’ He looked embarrassed, laughed. ‘Just do. Not exactly cool, is it?’

‘I like it,’ I said.

‘Yeah?’ He did that smile again, the one that made me feel weak, the one that made me think he really liked me.

The wren disappeared behind a tree. When I looked up, Jack was watching me. He looked sad.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ he held out his hand, ‘nothing. Come on.’

I slipped my hand into his. It felt warm and safe and surprisingly strong. He pulled me along behind him.

‘You don’t seem the type to know about birds,’ I said.

‘Don’t I? What type do I seem?’

‘Scary type.’

He nodded, didn’t laugh. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘and I also know about birds.’

The end of the lane opened out onto a patch of waste ground, littered with abandoned trolleys, cans, bottles, and all kinds of other stuff. An old sofa, sagging and threadbare, sat at the brow of the slope, looked out over the town.

I stopped. ‘Where’re we going?’

‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘Why? D’you want to go back?’

The sun was already setting. Where the clouds had broken up, their edges glowed a sick, jaundiced yellow. I felt a twinge of unease.

‘Thought you were immensely brave,’ he said.

‘I am,’ I said. What would the others do? No way would Abbi go home. Jess? I wasn’t sure. If I chickened out, I’d be home in ten minutes – on my own in my room with my homework, like every other boring evening.