However, for Mary, the opportunity to recruit a spending-spree companion was grabbed with both hands. She beamed joyously as she cleared away the breakfast remnants and piled the plates into the sink.
“I’m going to treat you to something today, Rose,” Mary declared. “Something special.”
“Thanks. That’s kind of you.” I wiped the breakfast table with a cloth, deliberating whether to brush crumbs at Caicus and Oscar, who remained seated, having excused themselves from cleaning duties.
“Well, if I can’t spoil my niece, who can I spoil?” Mary chuckled. She untied her apron and hung it on a kitchen hook. “Boys, if we’re going to Hutton Ridge today, you can come along and speak to the mechanic. He’s seen to my car in the past. He’s good and he’s very reasonable.”
Caicus and Oscar shared an ambiguous look.
“I don’t feel like going to Hutton Ridge,” Caicus declined in an offhanded manner.
“Me, neither,” Oscar concurred.
Mary gave them a puzzled frown. “Oh. Okay. Do you want me to get the mechanic’s phone number? Perhaps he could come to the house.”
The boys looked at one another again, conferring silently.
“No,” Caicus said slowly, twiddling his thumbs like a small child.
“No?” Mary repeated.
Caicus brought his blue eyes up to her. This time I was absolutely certain that they lightened, just as they had done the night before. It was as though his eyes were frosting over somehow.
“We think we should stay here a little while longer,” he purred.
I spluttered at the audacity.
But Mary simply reached over and patted Caicus’s hands warmly. “If you think that’s best, dear.”
Caicus nodded his head earnestly. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Mary.”
I stared at him, wide eyed. How is he doing this?
Unlike me, Mary didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. She trotted away to get baby Zack ready for his trip to Hutton Ridge. Only Oscar, Caicus and myself remained in the kitchen.
“How did you do that?” I demanded.
Caicus and Oscar turned their perfect poker faces upon me.
“Do what?” Caicus asked.
“You know what!” I slammed my palm against the wooden breakfast table. “Trick my aunt into letting you stay.”
The boys made an over-the-top show of appearing affronted by my remark.
“Trick her?” Caicus gasped. “I would never.”
“Your comments are quite vicious, Rose,” Oscar chimed in. “We are merely two down-on-their-luck boys who are in need of a friendly neighbour.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “Yeah, right,” I hissed. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with your car at all.”
“Are you accusing of us lying?” Caicus exclaimed.
“Yes. Give me your car keys and I’ll prove it.”
The boys laughed whimsically.
“No, thank you,” Oscar replied to me. “We don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I snapped. My temper was really rising.
“We don’t let other people touch our car,” Caicus clarified.
“Especially not girls,” Oscar added with a wicked grin.
I knew I had to get out of the kitchen before I smashed Aunt Mary’s crockery over their pretty little heads.
I held my tongue and stormed out. The truth was that I’d be fighting a losing battle, trying to contend with both of them at once.
“Don’t forget your coat,” I heard Oscar call after me. “It’s going to rain.”
In the hallway, Mary was zipping Zack into his woolly fleece. “Ready, dear?”
I mumbled ‘yes’ as I took my tan jacket from the coat rack. For the record, that was not because Oscar had told me to. I was going to do it anyway.
I followed my aunt outside and waited patiently while she settled Zack into his car seat. Before we climbed into the car ourselves, I glanced over at the black Lamborghini parked on the gravel a few metres away. It looked immaculate, apart from a splatter of mud that had dried on the chrome hubcaps.
“I wonder what’s wrong with their car,” I mused. “Looks all right to me.” Planting the seeds of doubt. Good idea.
“You never can tell with cars,” Mary said with a shrug.
“Funny how they managed to get it right up to the front door,” I added pointedly.
“Yes. They were lucky.” Mary took her seat behind the steering wheel and checked Zack in the rear-view mirror. Her hair was out of the rollers now and fell in curls around her full cheeks.
I pulled my seatbelt across. “It’s strange though, don’t you think?”
Mary looked over at me, not quite following my train of thought. “What’s that, dear?”
“The boys. Don’t you think there’s something off about them?” I coaxed.
“I think they seem like nice enough boys. Could be a bit of company for you, anyway. Aren’t you glad to have some other teenagers around the house?”
She started the engine and steered the minivan onto the access road. The gravel crunched loudly beneath the weight of the tyres.
I kept silent. Was I judging the Valeros too quickly? And if that was the case, had I fabricated reasons to justify disliking them? It was a possibility that my aunt and uncle were genuinely being neighbourly, and that I was the one out of line. I didn’t like that theory, though. But I had to admit, it made a lot more sense than my theory of Caicus hypnotising them.
As we drove along the narrow, snaking road, I found myself thinking of only one thing.
Oscar Valero.
Who was he? And what could he possibly want in Millwood?
AFTER A LENGTHY AND MONOTONOUS drive through Millwood, the minivan finally crossed the border into Hutton Ridge. Mary found a parking spot on the main high street and cut the engine.
Hutton Ridge wasn’t exactly thriving. The town centre was made up of a few cobbled streets, scattered with run-of-the-mill shops and the occasional upmarket boutique.
“I have an idea,” Mary announced as she fumbled to unfolded Zack’s pushchair. “How about we go to Amara’s and buy you a new dress?”
Amara’s was one of the most chic clothing stores in Hutton Ridge; everything was designer and everything was overpriced.
I lingered at the car door. A dress? I looked down at my jeans with a sentimental sigh.
Mary chortled. “Good heavens, Rose! You’re acting like I’ve asked you to hand over a puppy or something,” she teased. “It’s just a dress. Lots of girls wear them.”
“I suppose…” I pondered it. “It’s just, I don’t really wear dresses that often.”
“That’s because you don’t own any.”
“Yes, and there’s a reason for that.”
“Oh, come on,” Mary tried to entice me. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Um, somebody might see me wearing it.”
Mary guffawed. She shook her head and set off down the high street, her leather handbag swinging from the handlebars of Zack’s pushchair.
We hadn’t walked far before Mary came to an abrupt halt. She stood outside a small boutique with the word ‘Amara’s’ written above the store in curvy, pink lettering. The two shop windows arched outwards and each displayed a mannequin sporting the latest in designer fashion.
“Shall we?” Mary asked. Without waiting for a response, she pushed open the door and hoisted the buggy through it.
I followed behind her.
The store was relatively small, with glistening beige floors and neatly arranged racks of high-quality clothes. The faint sound of classical music drifted out from a speaker at the back of the shop.
Wasting no time, Mary began sifting through dresses. When she came across ones that met her approval, she snatched them from the rail and thrust them into my arms.
“This one,” she muttered to herself. “Oh, this one would look gorgeous on you…” She paused and pinched my waist.
&
nbsp; “Ouch!”
“Yes, this’ll fit you,” Mary decided. “You might have to suck in your breath, though.” She dumped another three dresses into my now overflowing arms.
“No more,” I beseeched her, peeking over the top of the mountain of fabric and hangers.
Mary gave me a little shove towards the fitting rooms. “Try those on. I’ll keep looking.”
“Oh, I’m begging you, no,” I exclaimed. “Don’t keep looking!”
She shooed me off into the curtained room at the back of the store.
With a dramatic eye roll, I pulled the red velvet curtain across. The truth was, I didn’t hate these outing with Mary. It was fun, in a female-bonding sort of way. My own mother wasn’t the shopping type, and it was kind of nice to get to dip into that lifestyle once in a while.
I offloaded the heap of clothes onto the dressing-room stool.
Only once in a while, though.
This was going to be a long day.
Already critical of the selection, I took the first dress from the pile. It was vibrant orange and knee length, with a net skirt and puffy sleeves. I grappled with the hanger for a while and then changed into the dress.
Yeesh.
I screwed up my nose at the sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror.
“How’s it going?” Mary hollered from the other side of the curtain.
“Awfully,” I called back.
“Why?” my aunt’s voice returned to me.
“Because I look like Mr McGregor’s prize pumpkin.”
There was a brief silence.
“Is that the peach one?”
I snorted. “It’s not peach—it’s pumpkin orange! I’m trying on the next one.”
“You’re not going to let me see you in the peach one?” Mary sounded distinctly wounded.
“No! I’m humiliated enough just seeing myself in it.” I untangled myself from the first monstrosity.
The second dress was no better. A canary yellow satin number with plastic beads along the neckline.
“How’s it going in there?” Mary yelled again, her voice drifting from a different location each time.
“It’s getting worse,” I shouted back.
“Which one are you in?”
“I’m a lemon meringue pie.”
Mary tut-tutted. “Rose, you’re not giving them a fair chance.”
“I am!” I wailed. “I’m in them, aren’t I?” I patted down the inflated skirt.
“You’ve got to let me see some of them,” Mary urged.
I scuffled into the next dress. Halfway through squeezing into it, the dressing room curtain flew open.
Obviously, I shrieked.
In one swift motion, Mary spun me around and yanked up the zipper at the back.
“Oh, that is… That is fantastic. That’s the one,” she breathed.
Dazed, I turned to face my reflection in the mirror.
Mary had been right: the dress itself was stunning. It was a rich mulberry colour, fitted, with a box neckline, and the hem skimming the floor. It was spectacular. But it almost felt too sophisticated for me. I was a first-time wearer, and I was in something that belonged to the pros.
“We’re getting this one,” Mary stated. She promptly spun me around and unzipped the back, then marched out of the dressing room, closing the curtain behind her.
As I changed back into my own clothes, I allowed myself to briefly indulge in thoughts that I had so desperately been trying to suppress. Something that, there and then, I promised myself I would allow only once, and then block from my mind forever.
I thought of Oscar.
Or, more importantly, I wondered what Oscar would think of the dress. Silly, I know. But I couldn’t help it.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed that I was smiling. Not a smile I’d ever seen before, either. A dopey smile.
Oscar made me smile.
Oh, no.
I stopped that insanity at once.
Oscar is a conniving fraud, I reminded myself. Oscar is up to something devious and will probably trample you in the process. He is a volatile con artist and you cannot trust him. Ever.
Much to my dismay, I felt a painful tug in my heart.
Traitorous heart.
I tucked my jacket under my arm and bundled the dresses together. Outside the fitting room, a shop assistant was waiting to take the unwanted items—which, incidentally, there were many of.
Mary scooped up the one successful candidate and toddled off to the cashier’s desk. “We’re going to take this one,” she told the brunette woman at the cash register.
I rushed to catch up with her. “Mary, I don’t know about this,” I babbled. “I’m not sure if I can pull off a dress like that.”
“What are you talking about?” Mary laughed in delight. “It was perfect.”
The overly made-up cashier held the dress between her manicured fingernails. “Are you taking this?”
“Yes,” Mary answered firmly.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the price tag.
My jaw dropped.
“Have you seen the price?” I exclaimed. “It’s daylight robbery!”
Mary shushed me.
“Do you know how much it is?” I spluttered in an adequately hushed voice.
“Yes, I know,” Mary whispered. “Everything in this store is around that price mark. Don’t you worry about the cost.”
I leaned against the counter in shock as the cashier rang up the bill.
“Thanks, Aunt Mary,” I said meekly.
“My pleasure,” she replied, beaming.
The cashier placed the dress into a little pink bag and sprinkled some scented beads over the top. She handed the bag to me and told us to have a nice day.
Manoeuvring Zack’s pushchair through the store, Mary led the way back out onto the high street.
“We were lucky to find your dress in the first shop we went into,” she said to me.
“Yeah. Now we can go look for something for you.”
Mary smiled broadly. “Oh Rose, you don’t want to be dragged around to all of my shops. Here’s an idea…”
Uh oh. Alarm bells went off in my head.
Mary went on, “I think there’s a youth club about halfway down Birch Street.”
Youth club? I winced.
“Why don’t you pop down there and have a look around? It’ll be good for you to meet some people your own age.”
No, I wailed silently. I couldn’t believe she was sending me off on a friend hunt. Not without a fight…
“I don’t mind staying with you,” I began my counter-argument. “I can help you do your shopping—”
“Rose,” Mary cut me off, “it’s a long summer in Millwood without any company.”
“I’ve got company,” I disputed. “I’ve got you, Uncle Roger and Zack.”
“I meant company your own age.”
“Caicus and Oscar are company my own age,” I pointed out.
“I meant company you actually like. A girl, perhaps. You can show her your new dress.”
My jaw dropped.
Mary ruffled my hair. “Meet back at the car in, say,” she glanced at her watch, “an hour?” She peeked into the pushchair. “Zackie, say goodbye to Rosie,” she cooed to her son.
I scoffed. “If Zack could talk, he would never let this happen. Go on, Zack,” I said to the plump face nestled in the pushchair, “tell her.”
Zack gurgled and drooled a little.
“My thoughts exactly,” I told him.
Mary chortled. “Have fun!” she said cheerfully before trundling off down the street.
Wearily I set off in the opposite direction from my aunt. Of course, I had no intention of going to the youth club—I was a non-mover on that. Instead, I ducked onto a side street, which, I quickly found out, sloped down to a huge old church. The building was clearly no longer in use, but it was in good condition all the same. It was typically ostentatious, with elaborate
arched doors, stained glass windows, and sculpted gargoyles jutting out from the stone walls. Surrounding the church was a neglected graveyard, and behind that was the beginning of a woodland.
I wandered into the graveyard. The yellowed grass was hugely overgrown and some of the gravestones had been upturned—I was guessing as a result of storm damage. There was a vague path leading out to the wood, so I followed the trail, venturing into the trees.
At least fifteen minutes passed before I even considered stopping, and by then I was deep inside the woodland. It was strangely comforting to be so immersed in nature. I was completely alone, apart from a solo squirrel who scuffled around amongst the undergrowth.
I kept walking, leaving my squirrel friend behind.
When I finally stopped, it was more out of necessity than choice. The trees parted and I found myself on the top of a projection.
I peered over the edge. The woodland below was easily a one-hundred-foot drop.
I had some time to kill, so I sat on the edge of the projection, looking down over the world below. It was a spectacular view, treetops as far as the eye could see. Placing my shopping bag beside me, I lay my jacket down over the grass and reclined back onto it. I closed my eyes and listened to the birdsong. A light wind dusted over my bare arms and swept a few strands of hair over my face.
But just when I felt myself drifting into a blissful state of relaxation, a stomach-churning image flashed through my subconscious. The vision of a decomposing skull teeming with maggots. The decayed face was long dead, but its menacing black eyes were very much alive. And they were staring right at me.
I gasped and sat bolt upright.
All of a sudden, the woodland didn’t seem so peaceful anymore. In fact, it felt utterly sinister. Even the sky had taken a dark turn; it was now congested with bulging grey rain clouds.
I sprang to my feet, searching for the path back to town. But there was no path, and every direction looked the same.
My heart began to race. As I stood alone in the clearing, I was overcome by the sinking feeling that I was being watched.
And I knew that I was right.
The Impossible
How I Found You Page 4
