Second Night (4 page)

‘I see there's a story here,' said Lauren. ‘So what does he do? What's he into?'

‘He rides horses,' said Gin.

‘That's cool. So do I.'

‘He writes weird poetry that only the sad teachers like,' added Jen.

‘And he drinks coffee all the time and doesn't eat,' finished Shriek.

Lauren raised perfectly penciled eyebrows. ‘What do you mean, he doesn't eat?'

‘He never eats lunch and he doesn't snack. He just drinks endless, and I mean endless, cups of vomity-sweet coffee.'

‘So how old is he? Nineteen? Twenty?'

‘He's sixteen next month,' said Bryony.

‘You're kidding! Wow! I guess he works out.'

‘I guess so,' said Bryony ironically.

‘So he's still in school then?'

‘Yes.'

‘The same school as us?'

Bryony sighed. ‘Yes.'

Lauren's blue eyes lit up. ‘This is so exciting! And he writes poetry! That's so romantic.'

‘Don't get too thrilled,' drawled Gin. ‘You only get a poem when he's ditching you.'

Lauren was instantly intrigued. ‘You don't say! So who's tried him out?'

‘Jen and me are untouched by choice,' said Shriek.

‘Whose choice?'

‘Ours of course!' said Jen sharply. ‘Bry used to have a thing about him but she's well over that.'

Bryony nodded. ‘Absolutely.'

Gin crushed the last of her muffin, wetting her fingers to pick up the crumbs around the plate. ‘My ‘try out', as you put it, lasted three weeks and three days. He's way too weird for me.'

‘Did you get a poem?'

‘I was voted out before he got round to doing me the honour,' she said flatly. ‘Bry'll fill you in. She used to hang around with his sister.'

Lauren turned her eager attention to Bryony. ‘So how come you know him? What's his name? Who are those people he's with? What do his parents do? Which girl is he hanging out with right now?'

Bryony answered reluctantly. ‘We live in the same village. His name is Caspar Wylde but he's always called Caz. His older brother, Jasper, and his younger sister are over there at the same table. His father's dead and his mother is a low-level servant with an income to match. She works for the local lord of the manor, if that's what you'd call him. She has to do evenings behind the bar in the village pub to put any half-decent clothes on her back.'

Lauren's eyes twinkled. ‘Jasper and Caspar? So what's the sister called? Pepper?'

Gin allowed herself to smile. ‘It would have been fun, wouldn't it? But no, she's Jemima. They are known generally as Jas, Caz and Jem.'

‘She's the red-head, right?'

‘She is. Jas is the other tall one sitting next to the girl with streaked hair. Sara Tate has been going out with him for the past couple of years. For this he has rewarded her with the unlikely title of Stat.'

‘Jas gives everyone names,' said Shriek. ‘He calls it branding.'

‘Big Ugly Mouth, Jasper Wylde, everybody's favourite life-observer,' sneered Bryony.

‘So who are the others?'

Gin took a quick look over her shoulder, counting heads. ‘As far as I can see the four remaining females are all Caz Wylde ex's.'

‘Are you sure they are all ex's?'

Gin nodded. ‘I'm sure.'

‘We call it
The Can't Let Go Club
,' put in Jen.

‘For obvious reasons,' agreed Gin. ‘You will note that, with one exception, they tend to be basically blond, which will go in your favour, Lauren. The one on the right of the sister is Kerys, the long-time first girlfriend and branded Kis, spelt with one
s.
The one to her left is Hayley Richardson, branded Haymaking to celebrate their summer romance. The gold-ish one with freckles is Julia Bentley, alias Jently, and the dark one with the large chest at the end of the table is Melanie Walker. She's branded Milky but everyone calls her Mel, except Jasper.'

‘And what about the other guys?' asked Lauren.

Gin grimaced. ‘The most gormless of the two other males is Tristan, known as Tris. The other one sitting beside Jemima is her boyfriend, Laurence, commonly called Loz. He has yet to realise how much time he is wasting hanging around in the nursery.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘He's seventeen, she's fourteen, work it out,' said Jen. ‘They've been together since she was twelve.'

‘Maybe it's real love?' suggested Shriek.

Gin licked her mauve-painted lips. ‘In that case, it'll stand up to a bit of testing, won't it?'

Jen sniffed audibly. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Why not? He was always going to be my second string. He just doesn't know it yet.'

‘Is this revenge talking?' asked Lauren.

Gin thought about it. ‘Maybe.'

‘So did you get branded?'

Jen's eyes glittered maliciously. ‘We all have names we could do without, thanks to Bry's life-long feud with Jasper.'

Bryony's cheeks were scarlet. She wiped the muffin crumbs off her fingertips with a paper napkin and took a gold mirror case out of her bag, apparently oblivious to everything except the need to retouch her lipstick. The red spread over her forehead and burned down her neck. She snapped the top sharply back on the lipstick.

‘Bry doesn't like her name,' said Gin. ‘Which is understandable. Nor, for that matter, do the rest of us.'

Jen sighed crossly. Bryony checked her hair. Outside, an old beggar woman stopped a tall, red-headed man passing by. She was wearing a heavy overcoat tied around the waist with string. Her head was bare. She pointed out something on the map the man was studying and he smiled gratefully, giving her a coin.

Bryony curled her lip, loathing equally the old beggar and the fool that encouraged her.
People like that shouldn't be allowed in this town,
she thought sourly. Mirror Girl nodded in her shiny gold frame.

‘So is someone going to tell me what I could be letting myself in for?' urged Lauren.

Shriek smiled nervously and shrugged. ‘You might as well get it over with, Gin.'

‘Okay. Just remember Lauren, it's not really as bad as it sounds. I'm Ginswill, as in something only pigs get drunk on, Bry's Bindweed Peabrain, no explanation necessary, and Jen's Sniffer because, as you may have noticed, she does.'

There was a long moment of silence. Jen sniffed without wanting to and glared at Gin. Bryony watched the man escort the old woman across the road, under the shelter of his black umbrella.

‘I see,' said Lauren. ‘Not very imaginative, is he?'

‘No, not really, just nasty. Shriek is still Shriek though.'

‘Even Jas couldn't do any better than my dad,' said Shriek.

‘Or worse,' said Jen acidly.

‘So do you still fancy getting a foot in the door with the Wylde family?' asked Bryony caustically.

‘I don't see why not,' answered Lauren.

‘You've been warned,' said Gin. 'There's no compensation for broken hearts and ruined reputations, not to mention guaranteed, glued-forever irritating labels.'

Lauren shrugged. ‘Names don't hurt.'

‘This one might,' said Jen.

A silver-coloured Jeep pulled up on the pavement in front of the coffee shop. A small, almost dwarfish man with an overgrown nose and straggling beard got out and gestured to Bryony through the window, waving to her to hurry up with one hand and jabbing a finger of the other in the direction of a traffic warden working two parked cars further down the road. She dropped her mirror case in her bag and stood up. ‘Got to go.'

She hesitated, glancing furtively at the group in the corner. Jasper nodded to Tristan. Tristan stood up. The small man wagged his head impatiently. Mirror Girl's reflection in the window mouthed,
‘Now!'

Bryony pushed past Gin's chair. ‘See you tomorrow, girls.'

They nodded. ‘Take care, Bry.'

‘Nice meeting you, Lauren, I'm sure.'

‘You too.'

A general cheer went up when Bryony collided with Tristan at the door. Lauren craned her neck to see what was happening.

‘Put him down, Peabrain!' shouted Jasper. ‘Run along home now and get the bed nice and cosy for Crapper!'

Bryony gestured in Jasper's direction. The door slammed. The laughing subsided.

‘What was that all about?' asked Lauren.

Gin sighed. ‘It's Jasper's way of reminding Bry that she never got a foot in with Caz and probably never will.'

‘Unless the world changes,' said Shriek philosophically.

‘Or ends!' snapped Jen.

‘And Crapper?'

‘Carl Draper, a harmless car salesman who has been branded for no other reason than that he is Bry's boyfriend.'

‘Who's the old man?'

‘Bryony's granddad,' said Shriek.

‘Percy Poore, commonly known as the Wallet,' added Gin. ‘I wish I had one.'

‘So, girls, what are my chances with the mysterious Mister Caz Wylde?'

‘We haven't put her off,' said Jen.

‘Obviously not,' agreed Gin, ‘even though she must have gathered by now that he's one hundred per cent mission impossible. But go ahead, Lauren. You can pin your poem on your bedroom wall when he's done with you.'

‘Maybe.' Lauren moved her chair to have the whole group in the corner on view. Jasper was talking. There was an outburst of helpless laughter.

He's the joker and there's a lot of space between the sister and her boyfriend,
she thought.
Maybe Gin's got a chance there after all. Caz has got his arm round Mel. He doesn't laugh as much as the others.
Just for a moment she was sure he looked at her.
Well, almost sure.

‘Any suggestions how I go about this?' she asked. ‘Do I introduce myself to the club, or what?'

‘Don't bother,' said Jen. ‘You won't get anything out of them and they're not keen on extending the membership.'

Shriek nodded her head wisely. ‘You've got to go straight at it. It's the only way.'

‘Is there anything else I should know?'

Gin shrugged. ‘If you've got any personal questions, ask him. Don't make the mistake of asking around the club, like I did.'

‘You mean, it was the club that voted you out?' Lauren was incredulous. ‘The ex's?'

‘In a word, yes.'

‘Wow! That's serious.'

‘It felt that way at the time.' Gin pulled a length of hair free from the thick knot at the back of her head, abstractly plaiting and re-plaiting the strands. ‘It's worth remembering if you're set on risking a really rotten birthday.'

Lauren smiled. ‘I don't do bad birthdays.'
What a challenge!

CHAPTER 5

A faint white glow appeared in the overcast sky above the trees to the east of the deeply shadowed clearing in the forest. Alan Crawford, Guardian Armourer and Defender of Thunderslea, shouldered his gun and stamped his numbed feet. His black Labrador dog sat patiently beside him.

‘Moon's up, Blue,' he said. ‘Reckon it's after eleven. One more turn about and we'll be getting off home if they don't show up soon.'

He stepped out from under the shelter of the gigantic oak tree and walked across the damp sward to the raised mound, edged with white stones, near the centre of the ancient temple site.

Where the old mare lays in her long sleep,
he reflected.
If she does sleep, that is. That was no normal, natural death she had, not in our world or time.

He had seen her more than once, he was sure of it… a movement at the corner of his eye, gleaming white under the trees … the sound of phantom hoofbeats echoing in the labyrinth. He stopped at the foot of the tomb and gave the Guardian's traditional salute, his head bowed, his left hand on his heart.

She was magic, that mare. She came up here through all the wreckage and mess after the storm, and found old Thor's lost spring and put Thunderslea back on the map. It's no wonder she was the boy's favourite and it was right that we renamed the spring after her. There's something special about all her bloodline. Each one of them has a different way of putting a foot to the ground. I can read all their markings except for the pretty lady.
He smiled, thinking about the filly.
It's amazing how the boy rides her like he does – no saddle, no bridle, nothing. She never leaves a mark that doesn't fade five minutes later. It's just like she's never been there.

The dog fell into step at heel as his master paced in long practised silence under the shadow of the trees at the edge of the inner of the two deep ditches encircling the clearing. The space between the ditches had been planted with a labyrinth of impenetrable lines of holly trees to guard the last of the sacred oaks to raise its great branches over hallowed Thunderslea. They stopped at the top of the slope that looked down to the dark opening where a tunnel came out between the portal stones under the heavy lintel in the ivy-covered rock wall. Alan was listening for the sound of horses in the labyrinth, real horses this time.

‘It doesn't look like they'll be coming this way tonight, Blue,' he murmured, disappointed.

He heard the muffled droning of a low-flying plane circling into a late landing at a distant airport and looked up to where the branches of the trees stood out like black lace-work against the neon-tinted sky over the village.

This world we live in sticks its nose in everywhere, even in a place so full of the past as this,
he thought sadly.
Nothing's sacred any more. Everything's twisted and smudged at the edges. There's no honesty in the way most of us live our lives. Nothing's clear and straight down the line these days, if it ever was.

A rabbit screamed in the copse south of the labyrinth. Alan gestured to the dog to run ahead and walked on, following the edge of the ditch back towards the sacred spring and the great tree to complete the circle.