Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (33 page)

As soon as I got home, everything cracked. I cried, I screamed, I swore. I threw up in the toilet, dizzy from a yearning that could never be fulfilled. I wanted his touch so badly, I couldn’t keep anything in my stomach. Then, without bothering to exercise or do my homework, I climbed into bed hoping to blot out my agony with sleep. But it was a long time before oblivion came.

My old depression was back with a vengeance, and I couldn’t see past the blackness that now engulfed me. Round and round and round, dark thoughts tormented me all night long. All the lies Elliot had told and the secret, double life he’d been leading played on my conscience like a broken record. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been to fall for it for so long. I must have been crazy to think my friend would come back from the wilderness intact.

Somewhere around eleven, I must have heard the front door slam and the clattering of Mum’s heels coming in. She called to me from the hallway, but I pretended to be asleep. I couldn’t talk right now.

Over and over, Neil’s words echoed in the silence of my mind: “When I look in his face, he’s not the same boy I remember. I just don’t understand how a person can change that much …”

Maybe Neil is right.
It isn’t just Elliot’s face that’s changed—it’s his personality, too
. The boy that I had known, that faithful, wonderful child, would never have done the things this Elliot had done. He wouldn’t have stolen from people, he wouldn’t have lied to me again and again.

And yet, despite it all, the most painful part was his rebuttal of me tonight. His rejection of my advances was the hardest pill to swallow, and somehow everything else seemed pale in comparison. I was heartsick and stunned by his coldness toward me. It felt like the world had ended.

Eventually, I slipped into a coma-like slumber and slept through till morning.

Home Alone

I
t rained all day Saturday, covering Elmfield in enough precipitation to last a month. I didn’t mind, though, because I couldn’t face going out and seeing people. All I wanted to do right now was hibernate, to stay hidden from the world and drown my sorrows in copious amounts of black coffee.

I’d refused to answer any of Neil’s increasingly desperate phone calls, telling Mum to say I was out whenever he called the house. I knew he wanted answers, but I just didn’t have the strength for that. Becky also kept calling. I’d told her I was ill so that I wouldn’t have to go to Taffin’s gathering. I still hadn’t recovered from my last encounter with Elliot, and it felt right to stay holed up in bed until some of the misery had worn off.

I spent most of the day tucked under my faded duvet, watching
The Wizard of Oz
on repeat, wishing I could swap places with Judy Garland and escape somewhere over the rainbow.

Mum had left early in the morning to visit my Aunt Jackie, who lived out in Sevenoaks with her new husband. She was having a housewarming party. I’d been invited along, too, but I pretended to have a headache, preferring to spend the day alone, feeling sorry for myself.

The afternoon passed in a blur of childhood memories.
The Wizard of Oz
had been one of my favorite movies as a kid. I’d watched it with Elliot at Christmas. Now seeing it under such different circumstances left a lump in my throat. Every so often, I’d glance across at the dresser and see the X-Men trading cards staring back at me. In my haste, I’d forgotten to destroy them—and now, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to let them go. Seeing them lying there was a bittersweet reminder of how differently things could have gone if he wasn’t so screwed up.

Morning swiftly turned to evening. Around seven, I went into the kitchen to fix something to eat. Mum still wasn’t back yet, so I figured I’d make enough dinner for two and she could heat it up whenever she got in.

I decided to make my signature dish, Spaghetti Bolognese. I took meat out of the freezer and set it on the sideboard. Then I took out some canned tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and cayenne pepper, my secret weapon to give the sauce its extra spicy flavor.

I’d just started frying the onions when the house phone rang. At first, I tried to ignore it, scared that it might be Neil again. But then it kept on ringing and I decided to answer it, in case it was important.

Turning down the heat on the cooker, I plunged down the hall into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi darling, it’s Mum.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I thought it was Neil. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What are you up to?”

“Just making spaghetti. What time will you be back?”

“Well actually, that’s why I called. There’s been a delay to trains from Sevenoaks, so I’m probably gong to be another hour at least. Sorry, darling.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll put your food in the fridge. Oh, by the way, how was Aunt Jackie?”

“She’s great,” Mum enthused. “You should see their new house. The place is absolutely massive. They’ve got this beautiful conservatory and a brook at the bottom of the garden. I’m so envious.”

“Sounds nice,” I said. “Maybe I’ll come up and see it next time.”

“Definitely. Okay darling, my credit’s running out. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

I hung up and went back to the kitchen. For the next ten minutes or so, I busied myself adding ingredients to the pasta sauce, relishing the gorgeous aroma as it simmered to a boil on the cooker.

I was just about to add the meat when the doorbell rang.

“What is it this time?” I scowled, annoyed that I was being disturbed again. It was only as I got into the hallway that my footsteps slowed.
Who on earth can it be?
I wasn’t expecting any visitors and Mum had said she would be at least another hour.

Cautiously, I peeked through the spy hole.

It was Greg.

Without missing a beat, I opened the door.

He flashed an apologetic smile as he lowered the bouquet of roses he was carrying. “Hi Sam, sorry to disturb you. I’m here to pick up your mum.”

“She’s not here,” I said.

“Damn. Any idea when she’ll be back? We had a date for eight o’clock.”

“She’s in Sevenoaks, visiting her sister,” I explained. “She rang a little while ago to say she’s on her way back and will be about an hour.”

“Damn,” he repeated, peering beyond me into the empty hallway.

There was an awkward pause as he tried to decide what to do.

Discreetly, I scanned him from top to toe. He was dressed like he was going to the theatre or something: his black hair was swept back off his face like Valentino and he was wearing a black dinner jacket beneath a smart gray overcoat. Wherever he was taking Mum tonight was obviously very swanky.

“Look Sam, I don’t want to intrude, but would it be all right if I came in and waited for her till she gets back? I’ve come a long way, and traveling home again isn’t really an option.”

I hesitated. I didn’t like the idea of having company—but then again, it would seem rude to send him away.

“Sorry, I should never have asked,” Greg said, turning on his heel. “It was too presumptuous of me. Maybe I can drive around for a bit to kill some time.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you can come in,” I said with a smile, stepping aside for him to enter.

He flashed a crooked grin and followed me inside. “Thanks for this, I’m ever so grateful.”

“No problem. You know, it’s funny Mum never mentioned you were coming.”

“She didn’t?” He scratched the side of his mouth. “I guess it must have slipped her mind.”

I led him into the living room and he took off his coat and draped it over the armchair. “Wow, something smells good,” he commented, rubbing his hands together.

“I’m making spaghetti. Want some?”

He shook his head. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’ve made enough for three.”

“Well, if you really insist–then yes, I’d love some.”

“Great. Hey, do you want me to put those flowers in a vase?” I glanced at the roses he was carrying.

“Oh yes, please do.”

I took them from him and got a whiff of their beautiful scent. “These are so sweet. Mum’s gonna love them.”

“Let’s hope she does.”

I smiled thinly at him and went back to finish cooking. Now that Greg was here, I actually quite liked the idea of playing hostess. He had such an easy-going presence, he always put me at ease.

About ten minutes later, the spaghetti was ready. While Greg set the table, I rummaged in the cupboard for some wine glasses. Mum had left half a bottle in the fridge, and I suddenly felt like having a drink. Now was as good a time as any to finish it.

Then the two of us sat down to eat, facing each other across the dining table.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “You certainly didn’t take after your mum in the cooking department, did you?”

“No,” I laughed. “I guess not.”

“So, where did you learn to cook so well?”

“My dad.” I took a hasty sip of my drink. “We always used to cook meals together when he … when he was living with us. I miss those days. It used to be so much fun.”

“Well, you must thank him from me. Because of your dad, I’m enjoying one of the best Spaghetti Bolognese dinners I’ve ever tasted.”

“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” I said, blushing.

“Aren’t I allowed to pay you a compliment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Oh, all right,” I laughed. “Yes. You can pay me a compliment.”

He stared at me a second, his dark eyes openly appraising me. “I sense that you’re a very self-deprecating person—someone who doesn’t take praise easily. Am I right?”

I tilted my head from side to side, deliberating. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Do you suffer from low self-esteem?”

“I don’t know. Never really thought about it.” I squirmed inside. This conversation was getting way too personal for my liking. Taking another large gulp of wine to calm my nerves, I chewed my thumbnail. “So,” I said, changing the subject, “where are you taking mum tonight? I must say you’re looking very dapper.”

He had his mouth full, but through the food he managed to say: “Why thank you. I do try.”

For a moment he and I sat there and didn’t say a word.

“So where are you taking Mum?” I persisted. “The opera?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Greg chuckled. “I thought maybe we’d drive around town and find a nice bar somewhere. Maybe have a couple of drinks.”

“That sounds nice. I’m sure Mum will like that.” I scraped the last of the spaghetti off my plate. “Finished?”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Yes, thank you. That was superb.”

I got up and carried our dishes to the sink and submerged them in hot water, adding a dash of dish soap to the mix.

“Here, let me do that,” Greg offered, appearing in the doorway. “You’ve already spoiled me enough with that delightful food. Why don’t you go and put your feet up?”

“Okay, if you insist,” I said, drying my hands on a towel.

I stepped aside to allow him access to the sink and marveled at what a gentleman he was
. This guy really is a keeper.

Whistling a merry tune, Greg rolled up his sleeves and switched off the running tap. Then, tentatively, he slipped the numerous rings from his fingers and placed them, one by one, in a line on the sideboard.

“Can’t get these wet,” he said, grinning.

I nodded.
Funny. I hadn’t noticed until now just how many rings he wears. And some of those large, chunky gold bands look expensive.

For a second, he stalled by the sink, trying to wrench the last one off his finger. “Damn, this one doesn’t seem to want to budge. Ah! There we go.”

He placed the medallion ring on the side next to the rest of them.

And then I saw it. A star tattoo identical to the one on the middle finger of Elliot’s right hand.

A prickle of unease shimmied down my spine, as if someone had just stepped over my grave. Something wasn’t right, I could feel it. But what? What did it all mean?