I stare unblinking at Sophie, lost in the story and picturing it all happening like a scene from Fight Club, then I turn my head to look at Tyler again. I still can’t believe Jesse put him in hospital. Behind Tyler I spot Matt – he’s goofing around in the water with Parker. I can’t imagine him stepping between a group of angry guys and being the voice of reason, either.
‘But why?’ I ask, turning back to Sophie. ‘What did Tyler do? What was the fight about? I don’t understand.’
‘Tyler said it was totally unprovoked – once he could actually talk that is. His jaw was broken – it was wired shut for a while.’
‘Shit,’ I murmur under my breath.
Sophie leans in closer. ‘But I have a friend who has a friend whose sister said she saw Tyler flipping Jesse off the week beforehand in town.’
‘Flipping him off?’
‘You know – giving him the finger.’
‘Swearing at him? That’s it?’
‘I told you, Jesse Miller is totally psycho. He was expelled from school too.’ She pauses. ‘That’s what I heard anyway.’
I frown. It still doesn’t make much sense. ‘What about the trial?’ I ask. ‘Did Jesse say anything in his defence?’
‘No,’ Sophie says, lying down and picking up her magazine. ‘He pleaded guilty so there was no trial. He was just sentenced.’
I lie down beside her and try to absorb everything she’s just told me about dead nannies, and about Tyler and Jesse almost killing each other over nothing. I’m glad I want to be a music journalist because I think I would suck at being an investigative one.
11
The only times I like to sweat are in the mosh pit at a festival or a gig. I do not like to sweat while exercising. So this whole cycling thing is not working out so well for me.
I’m only grateful for the fact there’s no one near to see how frightfully attractive I must look right now. I made sure that everyone left the beach before I did so there would be no chance of anyone driving past me, even though that meant I had to spend all day on the beach and now I’m sunburnt to hell despite layering on more sunblock than Michael Jackson ever did.
Jeremy, Tyler and Parker left early on – saying they had some things to deal with, whatever that means. Jeremy mentioned something about studying but I never see Matt or Eliza studying – at least nothing other than Sophie’s boobs and Vogue Magazine (respectively).
For lunch Matt went and bought up half the supermarket – dumping a pile of crisps (they call them chips just to confuse me), cans of Coke (no diet) and sandwiches onto a towel between us, which all the girls complained about and refused to eat (carbs).
I got to know Summer a little better, mainly because she’s obsessed in a truly unhealthy and slightly scary way with the royal family and wanted to know everything there was to know about Kate Middleton, as if I was best friends with her or something. I told her what little I knew, gleaned from the pages of Grazia, and it was as if I’d told her the secret to eternal life because now she’s acting like we’re besties.
Eliza avoided me, and Paige had enough of the sun after half an hour and left. Sensible her.
Anyway, now I’m struggling against the wind and my thighs are chafed and stinging, my arse is numb and I only just figured out that clicking the gear lever thing makes pedalling easier (though sometimes harder and I haven’t figured out the pattern yet). I don’t think I’m ever going to make it into town, let alone through town and out the other side before it gets dark. I’ll be lucky to make it back to the house before New Year at this rate. I’ve had to take two more puffs on my inhaler just to get me this far.
Finally, up ahead I see Miller’s Bike and Boat Store and that gives me the spurt I need to push through the pain barrier. I pedal so hard I swear I almost take off, just to get past the place before the Gods of Humiliation can catch up with me and fix it so that Jesse Miller walks out at exactly the point I’m cycling by and am hit by a truck. I don’t stop pedalling until I’m in town and I’m so gasping for breath and sweaty that I have to pull over. I drain the last drops out of my water bottle and then drag the bike onto the pavement (sidewalk – whatever) and lean it against the wall. I think about chaining it up but then consider that having it stolen might be a blessing in disguise. I’ll happily forgo the deposit.
The store is air-conditioned. I want to lie face down in the icecream freezer. I don’t. Though it surprises me to discover it, I still have some scraps of dignity remaining. Instead I slope weak-kneed to the chiller cabinet and stick my arm through the plastic curtain thing and keep it there, relishing the cold licks of air up my arm, which are helping dry off the sweat. I even glance around before leaning in closer and sticking my face through the plastic to soak up the cold like a wet flannel.
There’s a cough behind me. Someone clearing their throat. I jump backwards, snatching my hand and my face out of the chiller, knocking a can of Sprite and sending it flying.
A hand reaches out and catches it. Call it sixth sense but I already know without turning around that it’s him. Maybe it’s the way he smells – which is actually kind of good when you consider he works on bikes all day – or maybe it’s just that my senses are tuned to jump off the charts when psychopaths are nearby. Whatever. I know that it’s Jesse Miller standing behind me so close that I start to sweat all over again.
I turn awkwardly. There’s not much room between the chiller cabinet, him and the rows of pot noodles behind him. We’re brushing up against each other.
‘How’s the bike?’ he asks.
‘Um, it’s outside,’ I answer. State the obvious much, I think to myself.
He has his shirt on. That’s what I notice first. Then I notice the sense of disappointment I feel at this and react quickly to quash it.
‘I saw,’ he says, and there’s that trace of a smile twitching on his lips again.
What is so funny? I want to ask but one thing I’ve learned from watching movies is that you should never ask a psychopath what’s funny. You should keep the conversation to a minimum and try to remove yourself from the situation as soon as possible.
‘You shouldn’t leave it unlocked,’ he says. ‘There’s a chain attached to the rack.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think anyone would nick it here in town.’
He looks puzzled.
‘I mean I didn’t think anyone would steal it,’ I clarify.
He pulls a face which is kind of weary and only half amused. ‘Well, maybe Nantucket’s not as safe as you think it is,’ he says.
I frown at him – clearly it isn’t that safe, as I’m sure Tyler and his face would agree.
‘I just came in to get some water,’ I murmur. ‘I wasn’t planning on being long.’ I reach into the fridge and grab a bottle of Evian and then move past him, squeezing my stomach in as I go.
‘Hey, Ren,’ he says as I reach the counter. I turn around, surprised that he knows my name. Obviously he must have read it when I filled in the details on the bike hire form but still – it sounds weird, as we’ve never been formally introduced. ‘Be careful,’ he says, before adding – ‘Remember, right-hand side of the road.’
I pull a face. ‘Yeah, thanks. Think it’s safe to say I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life.’
I hand over some change to the man behind the till and exit sharply.
I’m struggling to stuff the half-empty water bottle into my bag when Jesse walks out of the shop behind me. He has a can of Sprite in his hand. He tips his head at me in farewell, puts on his sunglasses and then saunters off down the road. I watch him go. He is wearing jeans that fit well but he swaggers a little in them and I wonder if he learnt that in prison. He’s also wearing a white T-shirt that has a few grease marks smeared across it but which shows his muscles to obscene perfection. His whole attitude screams do not mess with me.
As I watch him strut down the street an old lady crosses his path. She says something to him and he pauses. Do not mess with him, I want to s
cream but don’t. Instead I watch them talking. The woman is shaking her head, her mouth pulled down at the corners, and Jesse has stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and is shrugging. He studies the pavement and I notice the angry metronome beat of his jaw. My stomach clenches with fear – the thought crossing my mind that he might be about to mug an old granny in broad daylight and I might have to give chase on my bicycle. But what happens is actually even more shocking, because without warning the woman suddenly pulls Jesse into her arms and I watch, properly stunned, as he slowly pulls his hands from his pockets and hugs her back.
After half a minute or so she lets him go, keeping hold of him firmly still by the shoulders. She seems to be giving him a pep talk or some sort of advice. At this point, the door to the shop behind them pings open and a girl comes out. She looks about thirteen or fourteen. She has long straight blonde hair and glasses. She’s clutching two books to her chest. When she sees Jesse she smiles widely but then the smile fades into awkward lip biting.
Jesse has said goodbye to the old woman and now he reaches out a hand and puts it on the girl’s shoulder. The girl looks up at him shyly and he says something to her. She nods, then shrugs. She asks something, her eyes skirting the pavement, and he shakes his head. Finally Jesse says bye to the girl and walks away and the girl heads off in the opposite direction, glancing over her shoulder at him every three paces until she almost walks into a lamp post.
Feeling like a total stalker slash Nancy Drew, I climb on my bike and make for home.
The shadows are lengthening across the road as I puff my way out of town, and the wind is picking up. A few cars whip past me but the road is mainly empty, for which I’m grateful. The last thing I need is Jeremy or Eliza seeing me right now. With about half a mile to go I hear the noise of a car speeding up behind me and I move in closer to the kerb. It doesn’t overtake me, though. I try glancing over my shoulder but the car’s headlights are so bright they make my eyes water and I wobble because I’ve still not got the hang of cycling straight while looking backwards. The car is practically bumping my wheel and I feel a jolt of fear. What is it doing? Why isn’t it overtaking me? The road is empty. Adrenaline pumps into my body. I try to pedal faster as the car engine revs angrily behind me.
At this point another car appears on the horizon heading towards us and the car behind suddenly swerves right around me, its wheels spitting up gravel, and speeds off in a screech of tyres. I can’t keep my balance and I hit the kerb with my front wheel and go tumbling to the sidewalk, managing miraculously not only to catch the bike before it lands on me, but also not to injure myself, except for a scrape on the palm of my hand.
I sit there, blood rushing in my ears, staring at the now deserted road and at the spokes of my bike still spinning, wondering what the hell just happened. Then I jump to my feet and with shaking legs climb back on the bike, determined to make it home as fast as I can.
12
Mr Tripp does a double take when he sees me coming down the stairs. ‘Wow, you look nice,’ he says and then he seems to realise how dangerously misconstrue-able those words are when said to your almost eighteen-year-old nanny because he actually turns red and runs out the door mumbling something about getting the car started, bashing into Carrie as he goes.
Carrie smiles when she sees me standing on the bottom step. ‘Did you have a fun time today?’ she asks, handing me Braiden’s changing bag and Brodie’s backpack.
I haven’t seen her since I got back and threw myself head first into the shower to soak off the sand and the sweat. It was Mike that asked me to come along to help out with the kids at the Reeds’ party.
‘Yeah, it was great,’ I lie to Carrie as we climb into the car. I list all the great things that happened in my head so that I can remember to tell Megan all about them later; I almost died four ways – by cycling on the wrong side of the road, of an asthma attack, from humiliation and under the wheels of a car that wanted to play chicken with me. I got shown the place where a murdered nanny’s body was found, I hung out with three girls who make Bex look like a candidate for best friend of the year, and I burnt my legs so they now feel like they’ve been cheese-grated and fried in chilli sauce.
‘You rented a bike OK?’ Mike asks from the driver’s seat.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘Oh wonderful,’ Carrie says, ‘where from?’
‘Miller’s,’ I answer nervously.
‘You went to Miller’s?’ She whips around in her seat to stare at me like I’ve just told her I spent my day off at a casino turning tricks.
‘Yeah?’ I answer.
‘What’s the problem?’ Mike asks. ‘I dropped her off there. It’s a bike rental place.’
Carrie spins around to face Mike – ‘What were you thinking dropping her there?’ she shrieks. ‘You know what happened with that Miller boy and Tyler Reed.’
Mike shrugs, ‘Oh yeah, I guess I forgot. That was last year.’
‘I don’t think the Reeds are going to be forgetting it any time soon.’
‘What are you talking about?’ pipes up Brodie from the seat next to me.
‘Nothing, dear,’ Carrie answers quickly, offering her a bright smile.
Brodie doesn’t buy the brush-off. ‘Are you talking about Tyler Reed getting seven kinds of shit beaten out of him?’
Carrie’s eyes look like they’re about to explode out of her head. The car swerves as Mike turns to look over his shoulder.
‘Brodie Charlotte Tripp. Where on earth did you learn that language?!’ Carrie asks.
Brodie shrugs.
I freeze in my seat, hoping to God they don’t think she’s learnt it from me.
I see a look pass between Carrie and Mike but they don’t say anything and a few minutes of agonising silence later we pull up in front of a gated house with a curving driveway already filled with cars. Carrie points out Mr Reed’s brand new top of the range BMW and Mike just rolls his eyes.
‘Come on,’ he says, killing the engine, ‘let’s get this over with.’
I sense a distinct lack of enthusiasm on Mike’s part.
A butler answers the door and takes our coats and within seconds two girls about my age in black skirts and white blouses appear in front of us, holding trays of champagne glasses under our noses.
The party is what my mother would call a ‘civilised affair’. It reminds me at first of the cheese and wine nights they hold at my school where the parents stand around in their poshest outfits yabbering about Camembert and knocking back the wine like prohibition is starting the next day (I know all this because I waitressed at one once and most of the parents were paralytic by the end). The difference here at the Reeds’ little gathering is that all the parents look like they’re just wearing their normal clothes (normal being cocktail attire) and like they’re so used to champagne it must flow out of the taps in their houses.
I haven’t made the same mistake with my fashion choices as I did at the yacht club – no grunge look for me today. Instead I’m wearing a button-front pale pink silk dress from Reiss. I know that this will win kudos fashion points if Summer is there because Kate Middleton buys practically all her clothes from Reiss (according to Grazia). The skirt covered my sunburnt thighs but there was little I could do to hide my sunburnt nose other than trying to tone it down with bronzer.
Mike takes a glass of champagne and, murmuring something about entering the underworld, he slaps on a smile and wanders into the living room where all the adults are gathered and is lost amidst the tinkle of laughter and the chink of expensive crystal.
Mr Thorne, the father of Jeremy, Eliza and Matt, comes over and presses his ham-sized hand down onto my shoulder. ‘Ren,’ he says, ‘how are the Tripps treating you?’ but before I can answer he’s moved on to greet Carrie. I shut my mouth and am suddenly confronted by another man. He’s tall, dark and dashing – like an American version of Mr Darcy. Though he’s obviously dad age. He greets Carrie with a peck on the cheek and then eyes me with some in
terest.
‘This is Ren,’ Carrie says, introducing me. ‘She’s our nanny for the summer. Ren,’ she continues, ‘this is Mr Reed.’
Tyler’s father, I think to myself, seeing the similarity in the quick dark eyes and chiselled Buzz Lightyear features.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Ren, welcome,’ Mr Reed says, his eyes skirting me.
‘Hello, Carrie.’
I turn. A woman is embracing Carrie. She’s wearing a black high-necked dress with a pearl choker at her throat and her hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. Side on she’s about as wide as my little finger. Her make-up is immaculate and she air-kisses Carrie and then glances my way and smiles wanly. Mr Reed puts his arm around her so I’m guessing it’s his wife, AKA Tyler’s mother.
‘The den’s down there,’ Mrs Reed says to me, waving me away with her hand. ‘I think the children are somewhere around, why don’t you go and find them?’
I have been dismissed. I take Brodie’s hand and head for the den. We pass the hallway, a dining room that’s all shiny mahogany, a kitchen bigger than my school, a study lined with bookshelves that seem to hold tomes and tomes of leather-bound books (probably Dickens, definitely not Dan Brown) and finally we come to a room at the end of the house which contains several sofas and a widescreen TV for a wall.
I recognise Shrek and his donkey on the screen. A little girl suddenly appears, her head poking over the top of the sofa. She has dark hair in pigtails and a snub nose.
Brodie’s hand tightens instantly in mine.
‘Hey, Brodie!’ the girl says. ‘Is that your nanny?’
‘It’s Ren, she’s my friend,’ Brodie answers.
‘I’m watching Shrek,’ the girl says, bouncing back around to face the TV.
‘You want to watch too?’ I ask Brodie, who’s now clutching my leg as though it’s a life raft.
Brodie shakes her head mutely.
‘I’ll stay with you,’ I say, sensing her reluctance to be left alone.
The Sound Page 7
