by Donna Hosie
“That’s blackmail.”
“My mum is going ballistic. I swear, one day she is going to stick a knife in him. James has had enough and is already talking about leaving home. And Aidan...Aidan...”
Katie lets out a pitiful, strangled sob.
“I think Aidan got off with Marty last weekend when I was at my dad’s.”
I sigh. There’s no way Aidan would have gotten off with anyone, let alone Marty Carter. She’s a vicious, back-stabbing creature from the darkest pits of Hell. Aidan is way too nice and smart to fall in with her.
But this is what Katie does. She’s so desperate to get away she believes every little rumour, as if the world is conspiring against her ever being happy.
I put my arm around her; she reciprocates. We’re so padded out against the chilly March evening that our hands don’t even reach each other’s waists.
Mum would use that as a reason to say I needed to lose some weight. I make a mental note not to buy chips down at the van by the hang-out.
“My mum saw yours in town earlier,” says Katie with a sniff. “Your mum was in a bit of a bad mood, but she did ask about the engagement party again. She’s offered to organise it.”
“Sounds like my mother,” I reply caustically. Perhaps I should get engaged? She’ll be so happy she might take me to Tenerife.
“Was the ring damaged?” asks Katie.
“What ring?”
“Your mum’s ring. The one she took out of her bank deposit box. My mum said your mum tried to hide it and wasn’t happy about showing it off. The cloth it was wrapped in fell out of her handbag, or something. It was a big sapphire. She totally freaked.”
“Mum hasn’t got a sapphire ring. She hates anything blue.”
“My mum said it was huge,” says Katie greedily. Her engagement ring is a cubic zirconia the size of a pin head. Any gem is big to Katie.
My cell phone vibrates again. It makes me jump again. Why do I still have it on vibrate? I’m far away enough from the house now. It won’t incriminate me.
But as I pull it out of my back pocket, I am reminded of ghosts and shadows and the musty smell of reclaimed wood.
And a pulsing blue light coming from my mother’s wardrobe.
I replay the conversation I overheard earlier between my mum and dad. A safety deposit box. Something small enough that could be flushed down a toilet or locked in a desk drawer.
A bark-like laugh escapes my chest. A blast of cold air hits the back of my throat as I open my mouth and quickly inhale.
Because, thanks to Katie, it looks like I’ve just discovered what that thing is.
Chapter Three
Hanging Out
The hang-out is a long-abandoned pavilion near the sports field that no one uses anymore. The field used to have grass, but so many stolen cars were burnt out on it, it became a blackened charred mess. The parish council stopped caring after a while, and the place was left to ruin. The pavilion is a relic from the time when the village had a rugby team that actually won games. Now it’s just a shell of a building with smashed windows, a leaking roof and discarded needles from the druggies.
And this is where the crazy kids hang out on an evening.
I glance at my watch. It’s approaching nine o’clock. Rumours swept the school this afternoon that there was going to be a fight down by the pavilion, but as Katie and I arrive, still arm in arm, we see just a few shadows standing around a small fire that’s been lit in an oil drum.
“AIDAN!” squeals Katie, and she immediately drops me and falls into the arms of her boyfriend.
I refuse to call him her fiancé. It’s ridiculous and old and stupidly ridiculous.
Aidan is standing with his hands outstretched over the flames, next to Rustin. Mine and Rustin’s mothers are best friends from their time at school, and so we’ve grown up together, which means lots of embarrassing photos of the two of us half-naked in paddling pools from back when we were five years old. Rustin isn’t his nickname, it’s his real name. His parents are just cruel. His surname is Hall, which people change to Balls.
Rustin Hall=Rusty Balls here. A neglected kid born to be teased.
The thing is, he isn’t teased, at least not about his name, because Rustin’s other best friend is Aidan Gorman, and Aidan, like me, is a black belt in Taekwondo. Take on Rustin and you get me and Aidan slam-dunking your ass for the price of one.
Aidan’s a good guy. He’ll make Katie happy - one day, when they’re both much older. Rustin’s a great guy too, as long as you don’t have academia as your Geiger counter for awesomeness. But both boys have moral centres that are purer than nearly anyone I know around here. I’ve seen Rustin and Aidan take on four guys because they were beating up on a gay kid at school. I hate bullies, and I judge people by the moral counter, not their IQ. So Rustin and Aidan will always be my friends, even when I eventually leave this place.
Katie and Aidan start eating each others’ faces. I glance at Rustin and roll my eyes. He and I got off with each other down here once. It was just kissing. I think he’s forgotten about it because he’s never mentioned it since, or tried it again.
Rustin just grins and pulls out a packet of smokes, casually offering me one in the process. I shake my head. My mother smokes enough cigarettes to fund a small country of tobacco growers, but I hate the smell and the way the edges of her fingers have turned the colour of bile. Rustin knows I don’t smoke, but he always offers. The thing is, I also know that if I took one, he would snatch it back because it would be bad for me. He’s such a contradiction, but that makes him interesting.
“We heard there was going to be a fight down here,” I say to Rustin. Not because I care, but because I feel the need to drown out the moaning coming from Katie and Aidan.
“There was. Janie Cutler and Fran Sawyer.”
“Catfight?”
“Tiger fight. They were brutal.”
“What was it about?”
Stupid question. All girl fights are over the same thing.
Boys.
“Janie thought Fran was messing around with Paddy.”
I don’t care enough to find out whether Fran was messing around with Paddy. He’s in my year at school, and such a dumbass he would need a map just to get to the hook and eye fastening of her bra strap.
Katie and Aidan are still at it. This is going to be a long night. Katie’s worries about Aidan doing the dirty on her are clearly forgotten. I think I’ll buy some chips from the van. It parks behind the pavilion, although rumour has it, it sells more than just greasy fries.
I start to walk away; Rustin catches up with me. He’s small for a guy, just an inch or so taller than me, but then I am taller than most girls. My mum has legs up to her armpits and I got that in the gene draw as well as the dark hair and green eyes. Rustin has long brown hair which he gels so it sticks up all over the place. He’s really cute. He’s the only boy in the year that has to properly shave. Most of the other boys, Aidan included, get fluff on their faces, but Rustin has the full sandpaper effect going on. It also means that he usually comes to school with bits of tissue stuck to his face from where he’s nicked himself with a razor. He forgets they’re there and so I’m always picking them off.
“I heard your mum had a meltdown in the village this afternoon,” says Rustin.
“So I heard.” I’m not surprised cheaters get caught out in this place. Nothing is secret.
“What was it about?”
“No idea. I was at home. Revising.” I add as an afterthought.
“Revising? What’s the point? There aren’t any jobs around here.”
“Which is why I intend to move away and travel one day.”
We’ve reached the chip van. The undeniably delicious smell of chips and vinegar just lingers around it, like a heavy aromatic cloud. The van is white, rusting, and rocking from side to side. I hope that’s down to the bass music thumping from it, and not because Matt, the chip guy, is getting busy inside with whoever came off worse in
the catfight earlier.
“Yo, Matt,” calls Rustin.
A face appears in the hatch. Matt, who has long black hair so greasy the rumour is he actually fries the chips in it, grins at us. His two front teeth are missing. It isn’t a pretty sight.
“Rusty Balls,” calls Matt. “You finally pulled the prettiest chick in the village then, man.”
Matt, who is so Welsh his ancestors probably bred with dragons, is the only person in the village who doesn’t speak with a Welsh accent. He drawls, like he’s perpetually stoned out of his mind.
“Chips in a bun, please,” I ask, as Rustin turns his back to Matt. My stomach is already growling, even though it’s only a couple of hours since I had dinner. In my head, I can hear my mother’s little digs about not fitting into my bikini, but as I’m not going to Tenerife, it hardly matters.
“You want S & V, Mila?” asks Matt.
S & V, for the uninitiated, is salt and vinegar, and not some kind of sexually transmitted disease. Although with Matt, you can never really be sure.
“Yes, please. Really soak the bread.”
“You got it, pretty lady.”
“So what are you doing over the holidays?” asks Rustin. He flicks ash from his cigarette which is blown by the wind onto my jeans. He brushes it off and it leaves a grey streak. I don’t mind because when he did it I had a strange sensation which made my stomach tickle.
“Not going to Tenerife is what I’m doing.”
“Aidan was saying Katie’s dad has bailed on her, as well. At least you’ll have her around.”
And the ghosts, I think to myself. The wind has hitched up and my hair is now blowing all around my face. I pull off the hair band I always wear on my left wrist and quickly tie it all back. A couple of strands haven’t been caught though and they continue to flail around my face, despite my best efforts to tuck them behind my ears. Rustin tries and just gets a face full of my dark hair for his efforts.
There’s laughter on the wind too. It’s being carried from the other side of the pavilion, where Katie and Aidan are still - presumably - making out.
“Dude, you should tell your pal to improve his moves,” drawls Matt. “It’s never a good sign when a girl is laughing.”
“At least she’s laughing and not crying,” mumbles Rustin.
But my feet are already moving me away from the van. Matt is still holding my chips in a bun. I’m moving because I know Katie’s laugh and it’s loud and gasping, with the occasional nasal snort.
The laugh being carried on the wind is delicate and pretty, like a small child’s.
A walk becomes a jog becomes a run. As I turn the corner of the crumbling pavilion, I see Katie in the glow of the fire. Aidan is stood behind her, with his arms protectively placed around her body, and with them, wearing a short denim skirt, black tights and biker boots, is Marty Carter, and it’s her girly laughter – totally fake, of course – that I can hear.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m becoming totally paranoid. I’m seeing and hearing things that aren’t there.
Marty turns around and smiles at me. I reciprocate. We both know it’s false. Marty is as duplicitous as they come, and I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. She’s been suspended from school more times than any girl in our year. She’s my favourite to be the first to get pregnant before school finishes.
“You forgot your chips, Mila,” says Rustin, panting slightly. His breath is a foggy cloud, and he’s holding my limp white bread bun, complete with greasy-looking chips. All of it is soaked in pungent vinegar.
But suddenly I’m not that hungry anymore.
“Marty’s having an end of term party tomorrow night,” calls Aidan. I can see Katie tighten her hold on his arms at just the mention of Marty’s name. “You two up for it?”
“Sure,” reply Rustin and I together, as Marty sidles up to Rustin and begs for a cigarette. She smells of stale alcohol. And now there are five of us and I really can’t be bothered with any of it. Today has been a crap day. It’s time to announce a time of death.
“Katie, I’m not feeling too good,” I call. “I might head off home.”
She drops her heart-shaped face to one side and pouts, but it’s alright, I’m a good friend and I’m not dragging her back with me. Aidan is twisting her shoulder-length blonde hair around his fingers. I don’t think he’ll be letting her go any time soon, and I have no intention of hanging around if Rustin gets off with Marty.
“See you all tomorrow,” I call, and I turn my back, not waiting for a response. I get one from Katie. Aidan’s mouth is busy on Katie’s neck and Marty’s just a cow.
“Hang up, Mila.”
It’s Rustin with my soggy, vinegar-soaked chip butty. My stomach growls. My appetite is back. I take it from him and half of the chips fall into the mud to become rat food.
“I’ll walk you home,” says Rustin.
“You don’t have to.”
“Hey, I’m not being a gentleman. It’s for my protection. Anyway, I hate playing the spare wheel to Aide & Kate. It’s bad enough I have the worst name in the world, without people thinking I’m a total loser too.”
That makes me laugh.
“Parents suck.”
“Yours are alright. Well, your dad is when he isn’t going on about getting extra tutoring and getting my grades up and school crap. It’s a shame he had to stop coaching the football team. Him and your Uncle Talan were the best managers we ever had.”
Uncle Talan isn’t really my uncle. He’s a friend of dad’s who comes to stay a lot. He’s Irish, but I think he lives in Somerset because he always comes back with dad after his tutoring visits away. Uncle Talan built the wardrobe in the attic conversion.
Wardrobe. Pulsing blue lights. A ring.
“Earth calling Mila Roth.”
Rustin prods me with his elbow, and what’s left of my chip butty slips between my greasy fingers.
“Crap.”
“Sorry, but you were miles away there. Muttering about a ring. I like you a lot, but I’m a bit young to get married. You want Aidan for that,” he jokes.
“I was just...oh, it doesn’t matter. Look, Rustin, you really don’t have to walk me home. It’s very sweet, but I’m not the greatest of company right now. To be honest, I thought it was going to be just me and Katie. There’s stuff I need to talk to her about -” The uncomfortable sensation of all too familiar jealousy stabs at my insides. “- I didn’t realise Aidan was going to be out too.”
“Oh, okay.”
Jealousy becomes guilt. Rustin’s tone isn’t one of relieved obligation. He sounds sad, as if I’ve let him down. If suddenly occurs to me that perhaps Rustin was the one who wanted company, and not the kind that involves being pushed up against a wall with a tongue in your mouth.
I punch him to show we’re still friends, but I do it with my greasy hand. I can actually hear the squelch of the fat and the vinegar between my clenched fingers.
“Changed my mind,” I say. “You can walk me to the bottom of the lane. I would invite you in for coffee, but mum and dad don’t know I’m out, and I can’t make coffee to save my life anyway.”
“You’re very strange, Mila Roth,” says Rustin, laughing. “But then I guess you must be to live in the most haunted house in the village.”
“Avalon Cottage isn’t haunted,” I reply, thinking back to the chanting ghosts that afternoon. The ones that scared my dad enough into denying they were there.
“Perhaps the ghosts are scared of you,” replies Rustin. “I know I am. But they’re definitely there. They date back hundreds of years. I wrote a paper about them for history. Only decent grade I received all school year.”
I’m not surprised by that. Rustin isn’t studious, except in history class because he loves myths and legends and old crap. He’s more practical. Rustin’s the top student in woodwork, and not just in our school. When he was fifteen, he made a rocking chair that was shown in the county show. The beating that he and Aidan got afte
r that landed them both in hospital. Aidan’s good at self-defence, but two against eight of the hardest kids in the neighbouring town wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter. Rustin stopped showcasing his work after that, but that’s what he wants to do when he leaves school. He wants to be a carpenter, and he’ll be an awesome one too because he’s brilliant.
I wish I had a clue about my future. Apart from travelling, I can’t see what the world has in store for me. It must be nice to have a purpose, a goal.
“You never told me you wrote a history paper about ghosts.”
“You never asked.”
“Yeah, because I go around asking everyone about their papers,” I reply sarcastically. “I hate school. I don’t want it dominating my social life, as well.”
We’ve reached my drive. Avalon Cottage isn’t far, but because there are no street lights on unadopted council roads, I usually can’t see the house in the dark.
But tonight I can, because there’s a pale blue glow, pulsing in the amorphous blackness. I think it’s coming from the skylight in the attic above the kitchen extension.
The same place where I saw the blue light earlier.
Several twigs snap to our left. The sound is brittle and deliberate, as if someone has trodden on them purposefully. My head snaps in that direction and so does Rustin’s. There are no other houses on the lane, just trees. Lots and lots of trees.
Someone is watching us.
A cold sweat breaks out around my neck. Because I have so many layers on to protect me from the cold night air, the perspiration quickly becomes trapped, making my neck damp and prickly.
Another twig snaps, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing. Rustin and I swap the briefest of looks.
“RUN!”
Chapter Four
Magic Mirror on the Wall
The gravel on the driveway is still damp, and even though Rustin and I are both wearing sneakers, we slide and skid into the stones as we run towards Avalon Cottage.
It’s only when I reach the front door that I realise that Rustin and I are holding hands.
