I took a better look at what I was seeing. The vehicle was a top of the range, black Land Rover, brand new too if I was any judge. And it wasn’t just Lance in it.
“Come on, jump in.”
I hesitated. Lance wasn’t exactly a stranger, but I didn’t know him that well. On the other hand he was the only person who’d treated me as vaguely normal in years, and the idea of not being late to school had a certain appeal. Before I could decide on an answer the back door opened from the inside and a blond haired man leant across the back seat to grin at me.
“Come on, you must be freezing out there.”
I found myself grinning back at him. Something about his smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help trusting him. I sighed and slung my bag onto the seat, following it up into the jeep.
Lance twisted round from the front seat, smiling at me over the headrest. “Cara, this is Wyn.” He gestured to the driver’s seat. “And Percy. My brothers.”
Wyn’s eyes met mine in the rear view mirror and he winked. “Good to meet you, Cara.”
“Thanks. You too,” I replied as the car pulled away. None of the three brothers looked alike. Not really. Wyn had dark hair like Lance, but his was straight and hung to his shoulders, and his deep green eyes sparkled with the knowledge that he was good looking and was totally unashamed of taking advantage of it. Lance had called him a trouble maker, and from just once glance at him I could well believe it.
Percy, meanwhile, was baby-faced and innocent looking. It contrasted oddly with the sheer bulk of him. He was built like a brick wall; I’d swear he was almost as wide as he was tall.
“So, do you guys live round here?” I asked.
There was a brief hesitation, one I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t already been on edge from lack of sleep, and both brothers looked at Lance. It seemed odd, but I put it down to them having only just moved. New towns always take a while to get used to.
“Uh, well, not exactly. But it’s a bit of a short cut to school.”
My street was right on the edge of town, and I couldn’t imagine where they lived that would make my street a short cut. On the other hand there was no legitimate reason for Lance to lie to me. Why would where they lived be such a secret?
The trip to school only took five minutes by car and as the jeep rolled to a halt outside the gates the car park was still full of students. I hadn’t been that early to school in months. As I grabbed my bag off the seat Wyn turned to Lance.
“We’ll pick you up straight after.”
Lance’s gaze flicked to me. “Sure. Have a…uh…good day.”
Wyn snorted. “Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Lance was out of the car and had my door open before I moved; I was still looking at the irritated look on Wyn’s face. It wasn’t just irritation at being the taxi service, it was something more. I shrugged it off, deciding their brotherly fight was nothing to do with me, and turned to Lance.
“I guess chivalry really isn’t dead,” I said with a grin as he helped me jump down.
An odd look flashed across his face and when he laughed it sounded a little forced.
“No, not dead. Not exactly.” He took my bag before I could sling it over my shoulder, and gave me a sly wink.
I laughed and followed him through the gates. Everyone was starting to go inside and we joined the crowd. It felt strange, but nice. I realised I’d been on my own too long; if walking into school with someone felt so alien.
We’d nearly reached the main doors when someone thumped into my shoulder as they pushed past, knocking me into Lance. I grunted in pain even as he caught me with one strong arm. He set me back on my feet and slammed his hand out, hitting the wall with a thud and blocking the person’s path.
“I think you owe the lady an apology.”
I looked up to see Anderson shove Lance’s arm away.
“I’d apologise if I saw a lady anywhere.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed and he stepped in front of Anderson. I’d always thought of Anderson as a big guy, but in comparison he looked small; he had to tip his head up to look Lance in the eye. Lance was a good few inches taller and quite a bit broader, but I knew Anderson wouldn’t back down. Not with half his team-mates from the rugby team watching from a few feet away.
“Get out of my way, new boy,” he snarled.
“Not until you apologise.”
Anderson cocked one eyebrow. “Are you going to make me?”
“If I have to.” There was no swaggering bravado in Lance’s voice, just a simple statement of fact. It would have worried me less if he’d been threatening, instead he just stood there, in his jeans and leather jacket, looking like a man facing down a school boy. He looked dangerous.
For a moment Anderson faltered. His gaze trawled over Lance, sizing him up. The flicker in Anderson’s eyes suggested he knew he was unlikely to win in a fight, but it didn’t matter. He shifted forward, and Lance did something peculiar.
I only noticed because I was watching him so closely. His hand dropped down as though reaching for something at his hip, but as his hand closed on thin air a look of consternation flashed across his face.
“All right boys, that’s enough.” Mackay was suddenly there, stepping between them. “You’re all going to be late for class, so get moving.”
Almost reluctantly Lance backed down, stepping back to my side with a final glower at Anderson. A small crowd had gathered around us, and I flushed scarlet under their scrutiny. I wasn’t sure who they were watching more closely, me or Lance.
Lance’s fingers closed around my elbow. “Come on.”
I let him steer me through the doors and down the hall, but stopped him only a few paces down. “History is that way.”
He took the corridor I’d pointed out but didn’t speak until we were seated at the back of class.
“Are you all right?” He sounded honestly concerned.
I laughed. “I’m fine. I’m more worried about your mental state. Taking on Anderson is not a good idea.”
Lance shrugged. “I would have won.” Again there was no boasting, just simple fact, as though the idea of him not winning wasn’t even worth considering.
“Not the point,” I said with a bemused shake of my head. “What were you doing anyway? Defending my honour?”
Confusion crossed his face. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You were, weren’t you? Why?”
“Because no one should treat you like that. You deserve respect.”
I stared at him. His text book was open and he was looking down at the page to avoid my eyes. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and a shadow of stubble covered his chin. For a moment, in that light, he looked older. I was reminded forcibly that I didn’t really know him. In fact I knew nothing about him. I didn’t know where he was from, or anything about his past. He was a stranger.
A stranger who treats you better than any of the people you once called friends, a little voice in the back of my head pointed out. A stranger who knows what people say about you and doesn’t care.
The voice was right, but a little shiver raced up my spine anyway. It wasn’t my voice that spoke. It was a man’s voice, deep and rich. The voice I’d heard in my dream.
Chapter Four
Lance and I didn’t speak again until lunch time. Even then I didn’t want to talk. I felt so sick that I was worried if I opened my mouth I’d vomit. The voice had been silent since it had first spoken, but I could almost feel it there at the back of my mind. Quietly watching and waiting, like an actual living presence.
I followed Lance into the lunchroom after double history on autopilot, waiting while he collected a tray of food. I took my sandwich out of my bag as we sat down and stared at it.
“Cara?” Lance leant forward over the lunch table. “What’s wrong?”
I blinked and looked up at him. Part of me wanted to tell him. I wanted to spill my guts and confess everything. It would have been nice to have one person
who knew the truth, but I couldn’t stand the possibility he would look at me like everyone else did – like the crazy girl on the verge of a breakdown.
“Did you have another dream?
“What?” My voice came out a strangled squeak.
He frowned. “I just thought… you’ve seemed distracted all day…” Looking down at his hands he continued, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“You believe me though?” I was surprised, but pleased. “That I actually have the dreams? Not make them up like Anderson says?”
Lance pulled apart his burger, taking out the lettuce and tomato, with a frown on his face. “You think I’d believe anything he says?”
He looked up and fixed his eyes on my face. Staring back at him a little of the weight on my shoulders fell away.
“Maybe I am crazy, but I swear, the dreams come true. I don’t know how, or why, but they do. But the one last night was different.” I hesitated, but Lance leant further forward. “It wasn’t real, I know it wasn’t real – but it felt different. It changed things.”
“Changed things how?”
I thought of the appointment Dad had made for that afternoon, and the voice in the back of my mind, trying to decide which to tell him. “I’m seeing a therapist today.”
This time Lance did react. He frowned, his fingers crushing his burger into a pulp. “A therapist?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Dr Winston. Apparently she’s pretty good. She had a cancellation for this afternoon, so Dad booked me in.”
“But why?” He sounded honestly confused, like it wasn’t obvious.
Picking at the sandwich in front of me, I refused to meet his eyes. “My Mum, before she got as bad as she is now, she had dreams too. I remember hearing her screaming most nights. I don’t know if they were like mine, but I know they were the start of her illness. My Dad thinks if I get help now we can stop it getting as far as hers did.”
“But, do you think that you’re ill?”
His persistence was starting to irritate me. “How do I know? I mean, really, most people with some kind of mental illness don’t know they’ve got it. Maybe the fact that I’m so sure I’m not crazy is part of it. I just don’t know anymore.” I tossed my sandwich back down on the table, slumping back in the cold plastic chair.
“I’m sorry, Cara.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was sorry for. Was he apologising for going on about it? It didn’t seem like it. It felt like he was apologising for something far bigger.
“It’s not your fault.” For some reason his apology made me feel guilty. I edged my hand across the table to brush his fingers lying on the table top.
For the brief second our fingers touched the lunchroom faded away. The voices and laughter around us vanished. Instead we were sat at a long wooden table in the middle of a huge hall. Grey stone walls rose on every side, light streaming through high stained glass windows, and Lance was different. He still looked the same, the blue eyes, the dark curly hair, but he seemed older, and in his eyes was the look of someone who’d been to hell and back. He jerked backwards and the lunchroom reappeared.
“What…what was that?” My voice trembled.
Curling his fingers into a fist, he stuffed it down under the table. “It was nothing. Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Lance,” I whispered his name and he shivered. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The tip of his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. “Not now.” His eyes darted around the lunchroom before settling back on me, his lips a thin, tight line.
Part of me wanted to force him to tell me what had happened. It had felt like one of my dreams, the same vividness, but I was wide awake. It frightened me, yet somehow I felt reassured. Clearly he’d seen or felt something too, and that meant it wasn’t just me. It meant it was real, not just something in my head. I didn’t know if that was better or worse.
The clanging of the bell made both of us jump and Lance leapt to his feet.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” he mumbled. “I’ll see you in class.”
I watched him walk away with a lump in my throat and a feeling of unease settling in my stomach. Whatever was happening involved him too. All of a sudden I didn’t feel like I was in this alone, but my one best chance of finding out what was happening to me was walking away. I sat frozen in my chair long after he’d gone, barely noticing as the lunch room emptied around me.
Lance didn’t show up to Art. I watched the door well after the bell had rung, but he didn’t come.
There had been an empty seat beside me in art class since the start of the year, but now it felt like it was mocking me. It didn’t make any sense. Had he decided I was as crazy as they all said I was? No, that would have just meant avoiding me, not skipping class altogether.
It had to be something to do with what happened over lunch, which only made it worse. I wanted to talk to him, to force him to tell me what he’d seen or felt.
The class passed in a blur and I knew my art project looked exactly as it had at the start. Not that the Art teacher noticed, she spent most of the class out in the hall flirting with the Geography teacher. When the bell rang I snatched up my bag and charged out into the hallway.
There were hundreds of students at my school, and trying to find one face in the mass of teenagers eager to get home was impossible. It was time to give up. He wasn’t there. Somehow I just knew it.
Other students jostled me as I headed for the main doors, but I barely noticed. Just as I reached fresh air, a shoulder slammed into mine and nearly knocked me down the three steps to the car park.
Anderson looked around theatrically as I spun towards him.
“What happened to your knight in shining armour?”
The same thing crossed my mind, not that I’d ever admit it to Anderson. Ignoring him was easier.
“Did he finally decide you’re crazy after all?”
“Probably,” I muttered, hating how true it felt.
Anderson laughed and I wanted to slap him. I wanted to cause him just one ounce of the pain he’d caused me over the past few years, but I didn’t have it in me. The honk of a horn distracted me; Dad was waiting in his car at the far end of the car park by the gates.
The appointment. I’d almost forgotten, but as soon as I thought about it all the fears and worries from the morning resurfaced. I didn’t want to go. I really didn’t want to go.
Pushing past Anderson, I hurried across to where Dad was waiting. I scanned the car park half-heartedly, still hoping to catch sight of Lance or his brothers. But their car wasn’t there. Lance must have left school straight after lunch.
Dad shot me a nervous smile as I climbed in, his eyes sliding towards where Anderson still stood on the steps. “Was that Anderson I saw you talking to? Are you two getting on again now?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I muttered. Dad didn’t know the full story of what happened between me and Anderson, and I planned on keeping it that way. If Dad knew he’d either storm into school and demand they stopped the bullying, which would only make it worse, or be on the phone to Snedham to see if they had a room next to Mum. Neither outcome appealed to me.
“Are you ready then?”
I nodded, staring down at my clenched fists. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The therapist’s office was in the next town over to ours. It was only fifteen miles, but it seemed to take hours. Neither Dad nor I spoke the whole way there, even though a couple of times I thought he was going to. He opened and closed his mouth more than once, and I could see him chewing on his tongue, trying to put whatever his was thinking into words. I gazed out of the window, watching the clouds coming in from the horizon, turning the landscape grey, trying to ignore the sick churning of my stomach.
The office itself was in a small tower block in the centre of town and Dad dropped me off out front before going to park the car. I wandered into the foyer alone and found the floo
r guide. Dr. Winston, fourth floor. Staring at the glossy plaque I wondered what she could do to help. There had been enough conversations with doctors since mum got sick to know there was no easy cure for mental illness. I was starting to feel a little queasy.
Dad joined me couple of minutes later and we started up in the lift. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall and stared up at the floor display above the doors. As each floor ticked by my anxiety levels heightened. What was I supposed to say to her? I’d been to therapists before, but my mouth stayed shut every session till they gave up. This time I wanted help, I wanted to know what was wrong with me, but how could I tell her the truth?
By the time we reached the office my hands were shaking. The waiting room was empty, soft classical music coming from hidden speakers. We were directed to a worn leather couch by a receptionist, whose smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It felt like she was judging me – making up her own mind about what was wrong with the blonde girl in the school uniform.
To avoid her gaze as we waited I scanned the room. There were no windows and the artificial light gleamed off the dark wood on the walls. The muted, old fashioned feel contrasted oddly with the shiny new Apple computer on the desk. The phone beside it buzzed sharply and the receptionist gave me a wider smile.
“You can go through now, Miss Page.”
Forcing myself to smile back, I got to my feet.
“I’ll be right here, honey,” Dad said, squeezing my hand.
I squeezed back and headed through the door. The room on the other side was almost exactly as expected; the brown leather couch and armchair, the big wooden desk, and the shelves and shelves of books. Unlike the waiting room wide windows looked out across the town, but it was a miserable sight. It had started to rain, heavy enough to create a grey veil between me and the outside world.
Dr. Winston on the other hand was not what I was expecting. She was quite young for a start, no older than mid-thirties, and kind of hippy looking in her flowing maxi skirt and jingling bangles. She reminded me of Mum.
The Last Knight (Pendragon Book 1) Page 4
