Free From the Tracks

by K T Bowes

Free From The Tracks

  A New Zealand Mystery Romance

  Book 1

  Troubled Series

  K T Bowes

  Copyright K T Bowes © 2013

  Published by Hakarimata Press

  From the Author

  Some of these characters have a sense of being real because I grew up with them, but they are fictional. Repeated a million times over in life, they would never recognise themselves anyway; nobody believes themselves to be that wicked. There is no specific person who could say ‘that’s me’, because I’ve merged all the worst character traits of the most awful people I came across in my torturous journey through school. Yet still these characters may exist in the real world just as they are here; and you might go to school with them. You may also sit in a classroom with someone whose circumstances are just like Dane’s without even realising it. The scars are not always on the outside.

  I write about the places I know and so they exist, but perhaps with different names and geographical features. But it’s worth remembering that this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental...

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  Acknowledgement

  This book is dedicated to my Sophia, who inspires me.

  Chapter One

  “I do understand, Sophia, honestly I do. But I can’t help you. It’s against the rules for me to discuss another patient’s medical records. Unless there’s something else I can do for you, our consultation is over.”

  The girl continued to sit in the red plastic chair; a look of determination etched into her dark features. Shaped as though crafted by someone with a love of fine china, her eyes were dark brown and rimmed with long lashes. The flared irises looked as black as coal, flashing with a mixture of anger and despair. The dull, middle aged man opposite her shifted in his chair with discomfort, sweat beading on his forehead. He eyed the girl with concern as her rigid hands sought the material of her school uniform skirt writhing in her fingers. “What about your health, Sophia? Is there something I can help you with?”

  She shook her head and brushed away threatening tears with the back of her hand. She uncrossed her legs and the doctor spied a ladder in her navy school tights, running from a pull near the ankle. He pulled his gaze away, wary of following its route with his eyes, lest his distraction be misinterpreted.

  “Goodbye, Sophia. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.” The doctor shook the girl’s hand at the door and closed it after her, heaving a sigh of relief at having despatched her without hysterics. He turned to his computer, intending to log his concerns on Sophia Armitage’s medical notes but the telephone trilled from the desk and drove the young girl’s plight clean from his mind.

  Sophia blundered into the corridor and hurried towards the green exit sign. She kept her head down and hid beneath her fringe like so many teenagers in hiding; praying nobody in the waiting room spotted her difficulty holding in the tears threatening to burst from the well in her chest. Get a grip, stupid, she appealed inwardly, knowing she was close to the edge of humiliation. Sophia concentrated on breathing through pursed lips and readying herself to face the sea of faces waiting for medical help. They’ll assume you’re pregnant anyway, she told herself. They always do. At least they wouldn’t know the real reason she called to see Dr Laarsen, even though the $17 visit proved a total waste of time.

  “Watch out!”

  Sophia barrelled straight into a solid body. Taller than her by a head, the male seized her upper arms in an attempt to right her as the heavy school bag swung from her shoulder and pitched them both sideways. Strong hands held her forearms while she righted herself and she nodded with cursory gratitude, refusing eye contact from beneath the safe harbour of her fringe.

  “Can’t you see?” Olive fingers brushed her hair back from her forehead and exposed her to a scrutiny she didn’t want. The other hand remained around her forearm.

  “I can see just fine.” Sophia shook her head and the waves piled back into place, but not before she recognised the scuffed shoes of her rescuer.

  “Oh, no!” she hissed under her breath, the blood running cold in her veins. Her heart filled with even more misery. She stared at the familiar ragged leather shoes and ripped laces tied in a haze of frayed material and panicked. The company the shoes kept, could prove lethal.

  “What’s wrong?” The voice sounded commanding and Sophia writhed inside, translating the action into tugging her arm free. But he maintained his strong grip until it became embarrassing.

  “Can you let go now?” Sophia gave into the game and raised her eyes to acknowledge a boy who struck terror into most of her male classmates and something close to hero worship in the deluded females. As her dark, tearful eyes locked onto his brilliant blue irises, the door to their left whipped open and a disembodied hand proceeded out, flapping a piece of paper. Sophia stared as a white, fluffy head and the stooped shoulders of a man followed it. “Ah, good, you didn’t get far. You forgot your prescription, Dane. It’s my fault; I kept you talking.”

  Dane let go of Sophia’s arm so he could accept the proffered paper, muttering quiet thanks. The doctor gave Sophia a strange look and she cringed beneath his scrutiny. “Are you here to see me, Soph?” he asked with a smile.

  “No, Uncle Paul.” Sophia bit her lip and scrunched her body against her companion’s, attempting to make herself feel smaller against the hurt look in the eyes of her mother’s friend.

  “Oh, okay.” The doctor looked back at Dane and raised his eyebrows with interest. “Oh, right.” He smirked, reaching the wrong conclusion and with a smile at them both, pushed his door behind him.

  “No!” Sophia raised her palm against the inference, watching as the door it clicked shut in her face. She closed her eyes in defeat and tried not to release her misery as anger. The alternative was crying which seemed worse. Everything caught up with her; the nervous wait for her appointment, paying money she couldn’t afford, the doctor’s easy dismissal of her concerns and then the wasted hour of her life which she wouldn’t get back. An escaped tear made a dash for freedom down her cheek, taking a trail of cheap foundation and mascara with it. Sophia felt herself being swept along on a never ending tide of humiliation. The strong, olive fingers linked around her left wrist and rose with her arm as she swiped at the tears which followed the first in its betrayal. “I’m fine,” she gasped.

  “Yeah, you look it.” Dane McArdle released his grip and used the sleeve of his school uniform pullover to wipe Sophia’s cheek. The scratchy material matched hers, only his smelled of deodorant. The frayed cuff and strands of wool tickled her cheeks and nose, making her want to sneeze. He lifted her chin and Sophia looked up at him, astounded by the concentration on his face as he tried to make her decent.

  “Thanks.” She pulled her head away, scrubbing at her face with her fingers.

  “You’re welcome.” Dane quirked his lips up on one side in a half-smile and regarded Sophia with interest. His brow furrowed and released as he waited for her to return his gaze. She forced herself to smile back and then squared her shoulders ready to face the myriad faces around the next bend in the corridor. “Don’t be nervous about people staring,” he said with kindness. “They’re like cows.”

  “What?” Sophia looked up in confusion and Dane laughed.

  “They stare a bit, chew a bit and moo a bit,” he replied. “Come on.” Screwing the prescription into a folded mess, he stuffed it into the po
cket of his long grey pants. “Just keep walking and don’t get eye contact.” He turned Sophia around and marched her through the waiting room before she could object, not letting go until they reached the long corridor before the street. A left hand fork went past the pathology lab and physiotherapist’s rooms but Dane pushed his fingers in Sophia’s back until they emerged into the busy shopping centre car park.

  Warm air filled her lungs and she reached for control of herself, not looking forward to the long walk home from the Rototuna suburb to her house in Flagstaff. The sense of misery abated, leaving emptiness in its place.

  Dane nudged her shoulder, watching traffic merge at the exit to the car park. “Let’s go next door for coffee and then I’ll drive you home.”

  Sophia panicked, shaking her head and pulling a few loose coins from inside her blazer pocket. “I’m fine. Look, I’ve got bus fare left.”

  The dollar coin and twenty cent pieces weren’t enough and they both knew it. The ball of blue-blazer fluff attached to them didn’t do much to help her cause either. Dane cocked his head to one side like a bird and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want me to know where you live.”

  It was a statement not a question. Sophia gulped and the overwhelming sadness returned, threatening to engulf her. She put her head down with a sigh. “It’s not that.”

  “Then don’t be stupid.” Dane took her arm and hauled her into the café next door, leaving her in front of the chiller to choose a cold drink. The bottles stood in neat rows like a battalion of gaudy, coloured soldiers and Sophia stared at them. Dane glanced back at her, moving towards a cabinet full of pies and poking around inside with a pair of tongs. “It’s not like I don’t already know where your house is,” he muttered, sounding upset.

  When he returned with a tray loaded with savouries and cake, he found Sophia still facing the chiller but her mind elsewhere. She peered at a ratty nail on her left hand and debated whether or not to neaten it up with her teeth. Her mother’s hatred of bitten nails sent her searching in her blazer pocket for a nail file; knowing she wouldn’t find it. It went missing from her life around the same time as her mother.

  “Come on. We’ll get coffee.” Instead of being cross or impatient, Dane put his arm around her and pushed the tray towards the till one-handed. “Two trim lattes, please,” he said to the barista. He paid, ignoring the fluffy coins Sophia held out to him.

  As they turned away from the till, Sophia heard the barista whisper to the cafe owner, “Cute.” She cringed, terror mixing with dread at knowing they’d been branded a couple.

  She stole a quick look at Dane and he smirked, crushing her delicate ego further underfoot. “Hey, don’t read into things,” he soothed, jabbing her with his elbow as he carried the tray.

  “That’s alright for you to say,” she bit back.

  At the table, he pushed Sophia into a seat and set a steak and cheese pie in front of her. It oozed grease, disgorging its cheesy contents onto the plate. Sophia looked up in genuine surprise and he caught her look and laughed. “Is it still your favourite?”

  Sophia nodded. “How did you know?”

  “We’ve been in the same classes for over three years, Soph. In Year 9, your English speech topic talked about varieties of pie. I remember you preferred steak and cheese.” He waved a fork at his own plate. “I’m a chicken kinda guy.”

  “Hardly.” Sophia looked around the cafe for familiar faces, heaving a sigh of relief when she saw none. She allowed herself to relax; safe for the moment.

  Dane watched her through narrowed eyes. “In Year 11 for your exam piece, you drew a picture of your very distinctive house. It’s not hard to work out who people are if you bother to listen.” He shut up then, embarrassed and pushed a piece of chicken around his plate, smearing the gravy into a pattern.

  Sophia looked down at her pie, ashamed she didn’t know the first thing about Dane McArdle, despite the same advantage. “I don’t know much about you,” she admitted and he laughed as though reading her mind. The sound of it struck a chord in her soul and gave her an odd feeling of solidarity. Sophia bit her lip and squirmed in her seat, pushing away the unwelcome emotion.

  Dane leaned forward and put her out of her misery, “My Year 9 speech was about the influence of gangs in society and my art submission depicted a derelict house used by drug addicts, near the railway tracks in Fairview. The topic I chose was The other side of the tracks.”

  “I actually do remember.” Sophia nodded with relief. “You won the speech competition. What exam result did you get for your art?”

  Dane smiled, showing straight, white teeth. A tiny chip decorated his top tooth at the front and ruined the perfection, but robbed nothing of the effect of his good looks. Sophia realised she’d never seen him smile and it send a flutter of excitement through her stomach. Still growing and maturing into manhood, Dane McArdle would be a heart breaker once finished. Sophia’s rational mind calmed her silly heart, reminding her he already was. She pushed pieces of pastry into her mouth and focussed on his words. “I aimed for endorsed with excellence but got a merit instead. Never mind. Aim for the sun and maybe hit the stars,” he told her, taking another mouthful. Sophia nodded, watching him through the corner of her eye.

  He seemed gentler away from school and she struggled to reconcile this Dane with the one there, wondering if he’d ignore her in future. She avoided his noxious crowd through sheer self-preservation and shivered at the memory of Sandra, his nasty girlfriend. Three bitchy girls graced the pivotal centre of Dane’s group with a contingent of troubled boys. The girls played the boys off against one another, dating whichever one they chose like an incestuous game of partner swap. They fuelled the constant fights with boys, who dared to look their way, operating unchecked by adults and without a moral code. “You won’t mention this, will you?” she ventured, fearing reprisals if the rumours started. Dane belonged to Sandra; everyone knew that. Sophia had been on the wrong end of the girl’s attention enough times to avoid inviting it; not if she expected to live a normal life afterwards.

  “What, you getting upset in the doctors’?” Dane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at her in confusion. Sophia swallowed, interrupted by the waitress with their coffee.

  She watched the woman’s retreating back and prodded at the careful pattern etched into the whipped milk. Words failed her as she worried about what Sandra might do to her.

  “Sucks, ay?” Dane’s sentence sounded half-finished and Sophia forced her attention back to him, trying to pick up the threads without making a fool of herself.

  “What does?” She glanced around the cafe again, seeing old people and a woman with a baby but no other high schoolers. Dane McArdle wasn’t trustworthy. It might be a trap. He could be nice to her this evening so she let her guard down, only to humiliate her tomorrow at school. His full lips moved and he said something about school uniform. Sophia waited a second to see if he elaborated, relieved to find him on safe territory. “He’s real strict, like there’s no room for compromise or anything.” Dane altered his voice until he sounded like the deputy principal. “Sort yourself out, McArdle; you look a scarecrow. Get another school pullover from the shop; there’s second-hand ones there.”

  “Oh, your pullover.” Sophia exhaled and smiled with relief.

  Dane nodded, his brows furrowing in confusion as though she might be teasing him. “Yeah. My pullover.” He knocked his fork against the tatty sleeve. “I said that.”

  Sophia nodded with enthusiasm and then glanced down at her own sleeves. Her eyes strayed to a monstrosity making its way up her leg. “Oh crap!” she groaned, smoothing the ladder which had spread as far as her thigh. “More stockings! Dad’s gonna have a fit! They cost a fortune.”

  “At least I don’t have that problem!” Dane commiserated, glancing under the table at her legs. He grinned and Sophia felt the colour flush into her neck and tried to distract herself from the mounting confusion she felt every time he looked
at her. She stared down at the crumb-covered tiled floor next to the table, unable to finish her food.

  When she looked up again, Dane’s blue eyes seemed to sparkle and dance in the sunlight. A lock of dark hair fell into his eyes, bouncing in time with his eyelashes. Sophia felt the spark of connection and it terrified her to the core. Dane’s expression became wistful and his gaze softened. “Come on,” he said, pushing his plate away. “I’ll drive you home.”