‘What is it? Ren?’ Carrie’s voice breaks through the images in my head. I blink at her, letting the images fade. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks, putting her hand on my shoulder.
‘Yes,’ I murmur, ‘I’m fine. I just – I need to go to bed.’
She watches me as I head up the stairs. My hand is numb on the banister, my feet heavy as concrete. I sit on the edge of my bed and rest my head in my hands. Then I burst into tears.
I wake up with burning eyes. I’ve been crying in my sleep and my eyes feel as if they’ve been tasered repeatedly. I roll onto my side and shut them but all I can see is Jesse, his face when he told me about his sister, the determination and hatred lacing his voice when he spoke about his plans for Tyler.
I have to find a way to stop him. I’m still mad at him but the anger has dulled to an ache, because really it’s my heart that is hurting the most. It’s like it was filled with helium for a few precious seconds and allowed to float above the surface of the earth and then someone shot a missile right through it. But I can’t avoid the thought. Jesse Miller italicized like likes me. I almost smile. He’s liked me, the whole time – all that flirting was for real. I recall every single line of flattery and flirtatious glance in my direction and want to tattoo them into my brain just so I can get off on the self-torture of replaying them all for the rest of my freaking life. Obviously.
We were so close to actually being together. But then I remember how that’s not enough apparently to stop him wanting to go to prison.
I try not to think about Jeremy, although when I’m in the bath (listening to The XX because they’re the only ones who understand how I feel right now), I scrub my whole body, taking off half my tan, in an attempt to scour away the memory of his touch. I cannot believe I fell for his duplicitous Gossip Girl ways and side parting. I should have followed my instincts. No one who wears chinos and cardigans should ever be trusted, let alone kissed. What was I thinking? Serious error of judgement.
I’m getting dressed when Carrie knocks, then pokes her head around the door.
‘Ren,’ she says. ‘There’s a phone call for you. It’s your mother.’
Worry tsunamis through me. I glance at the clock. It’s only just gone seven a.m. That makes it about two a.m. back in London. Why is my mum calling so early? My hand shakes as I take the phone.
‘Ren?’
‘Mum?’ I sink down onto the bed, one arm through my jumper and the other sticking out.
‘Oh God, you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
‘I know, I know, it’s just good to hear your voice.’
I have been very bad at staying in touch and the sound of my mum’s voice makes everything suddenly seem overwhelming and I feel like sobbing. I wish I was home with her and could tell her everything that’s been going on. She’d make me a cup of tea and bring me a plate of digestives and stroke my back as I bawled helplessly about how shit boys are and then we’d watch X Factor and laugh at all the people auditioning until I felt better. But Carrie is hovering in the doorway so I can’t burst into tears and start offloading my burden of man-hate. Instead I shoot Carrie an apologetic look and turn my back. She takes the hint and I hear her walk away and head down the stairs.
‘Megan told me what’s been happening,’ my mum says. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. Ren, I’m your mother!’
I’m officially going to kill Megan. She couldn’t just ask my mother if she’d like a Bag for Life, she had to go blabbing over the barcode scanner.
‘Mum,’ I say, quietly, the sob still threatening to burst. ‘It’s all fine.’
‘You need to come home right now, Ren Scout Kingston!’ (Middle name included is always a bad sign.) ‘I’ve already spoken to Carrie and she says they offered to send you home and that you turned them down. What were you thinking? Girls are being killed! Foreign girls! Both of them nannies! You are foreign and a nanny. I want you off that island right this instant. Am I the only sane person in this conversation? Ren? Are you even listening?’
‘I can’t leave yet,’ I mumble.
‘Yes you can!’ my mum shouts down the phone. She never shouts so this is how I realise that she’s moved from really, really upset into apocalyptic meltdown mode. ‘How do you think I feel knowing you are there? I’m terrified. Please, Ren.’ She’s actually begging; her voice sounds small and far away. I can picture her sitting on her bed at home, with the laptop in front of her, Googling all the news reports on the murdered girls and imagining me as one of them. I’m all she has. I’m her whole, entire life.
‘OK,’ I whisper down the phone.
‘Today,’ she answers.
‘No,’ I say, trying to think clearly, though my brain feels like it’s being beaten with a meat tenderiser. ‘I have some things to do.’ Like seeing Jesse one last time. ‘I can’t leave them in the lurch,’ I blurt, thinking also of the Tripps and having to say goodbye to Brodie and Braiden.
‘Fine, tomorrow,’ my mother says. ‘But you are not to step foot outside that house until you leave for the airport tomorrow. Promise me, Ren.’ Her tone is full-on threatsville: the voice she uses to lay down the law in the classroom.
I swallow. ‘OK,’ I say.
‘Right, well, I’m going to arrange your flight for tomorrow. The first flight out. I’ll email you the booking details as soon as I have them.’
‘OK,’ I say again, my throat closing over. I press my hand to my forehead where a headache is starting to throb maliciously.
‘I love you, honey,’ my mum says.
‘I love you too, Mum,’ I say. ‘Bye.’ And then I hang up.
I sit there for a few minutes, holding the phone, thinking. If I only have a day then I have to see Jesse. Despite how mad I am at him I can’t just leave without saying goodbye, without trying one last time to get him to change his stupid, honour-driven, revenge-filled, beautiful, idiotic mind.
I snatch for my bag, sitting on the chair by the window, and pull out my wallet. Inside is the receipt for my bike. Crap. I will need to take that back too. There is so much to do and not enough time.
I dial the number on the receipt quickly and notice that my breathing is snagged, uneven. After three rings someone picks up.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Jesse?’
‘This is his dad, who’s this?’
‘Um, it’s Ren,’ I say. ‘I’m a friend of his.’
‘Oh Ren, yes,’ Mr Miller says and I pick up the note of distraction in his voice. There’s the sound of banging in the background. ‘I’m afraid Jesse’s not here at the moment.’
A thought surfaces that maybe Jesse is off doing something stupid at this very moment, like exacting his revenge on Tyler, but he said he had four weeks, didn’t he? I’m no longer sure what to think.
‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’ I ask. ‘I kind of need to see him.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Mr Miller says, shaking his head. ‘He’s taken the boat out, Ren. He does that sometimes when he needs to think, and we had a bad morning.’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling relieved that he’s not out trying to exact revenge but also disappointed. How will I be able to speak to him?
Mr Miller carries on. ‘The shop was broken into. There’s quite a bit of damage.’ I hear him sigh. ‘The police were here early this morning seeing to it. It was left in quite a mess. The windows were all smashed. Jesse helped me clear it all up and then he took off.’
I have been standing at the window, staring out at the ocean in the distance but now I sink down onto the chair. Who would have done that? But I don’t even have to ask the question. I know who did it. It’s obvious. Isn’t it obvious to everyone, including the police? It must have been Tyler. Probably with Parker – and maybe even Jeremy. And they must have done it when Jesse was driving me home. It’s my fault then, that’s all I can think. If I hadn’t shown up and if Jesse hadn’t had to drive me home he would have been there to protect the place.
‘I’m
sorry, Ren, I have to go. I’m waiting on a call from the insurers,’ Mr Miller says.
‘Oh, yes, sure, OK,’ I say, trying to wrap my head around what he’s just told me. I try to picture the shop I was standing in last night being all smashed up.
‘I’ll be sure to tell him you called though,’ Mr Miller says. ‘Bye.’ And he hangs up.
I am still holding the phone against my ear when Brodie runs into the room. She comes to a stop in front of the chair I’m collapsed in. ‘Are you leaving?’ she demands and her bottom lip is quivering.
‘Yes,’ I say, feeling my own lip quiver in return, ‘I’m sorry.’
Her beautiful blue eyes well up. ‘But I love you,’ she says.
I put the phone down and reach for her and she climbs onto my lap and I rock her and stroke her hair. ‘I know,’ I say, ‘I love you too.’ And inside me it’s as if I can feel my heart cracking in two – this whole day seems designed to teach me exactly what love is – how quickly it can appear, fill you to bursting, take you to the edge of the stratosphere and then vanish, leaving your heart irredeemably broken.
Brodie looks up at me, wide-eyed. ‘Are you scared?’ she asks.
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I lie. ‘Maybe a little,’ I add, ‘but that’s not why I’m going. My mum really wants me to come home. So I have to go.’ I sigh.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ Brodie says, snuggling against me.
‘Me too,’ I say.
She wriggles out of my grip and sits up so she can see my face. ‘Are you going to say goodbye to Jeremy before you go?’ she asks.
I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say, ‘I don’t think so.’ No point going into detail with a four-year-old.
She frowns at me, her little nose wrinkling. ‘But Noelle said you and Jeremy made it to third base. That means you’re really good friends, doesn’t it? Don’t you want to say bye?’
I almost send her tumbling off my lap. ‘What? ’ I say, clutching for her. I sit her upright, holding her by the shoulders. ‘Where did she hear that?’ I ask.
Brodie shrugs at me. ‘She said she read it. Noelle can read better than me. I can’t read at all yet.’
My head feels hollow all of a sudden. ‘Brodie, what are you talking about?’ I ask and I hear my voice reverberate inside my skull.
‘She read it,’ Brodie says again. ‘She said you and Jeremy had made it to third base but that Tyler was still in the lead. Or something?’ She frowns up at me in puzzlement.
I feel sick. I feel so sick that the room spins dangerously and I have to lift Brodie off my lap and lean forward to rest my head between my knees.
‘Where did she read this, Brodie?’ I manage to say through the waves of nausea swamping me.
‘In a book, I think,’ Brodie answers and I note the waver in her voice.
I look up and try to smile at her. ‘What book – do you know?’ I ask.
She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip. ‘No. Just that it belongs to Tyler.’
‘Listen,’ I say, my throat is dry, my blood pulsing thickly in my head. ‘Today at camp, do you think you could find out more from Noelle? I need to know where the book is – does Tyler have it? Where does he keep it? Do you think you could do that for me, Brodie?’
She stares at me for a few seconds, considering, and then she nods firmly. I smile at her. ‘Find out whatever you can, but, Brodie,’ I reach for her hand and squeeze it, ‘you mustn’t tell her why. You mustn’t tell her that I know or that I’ve asked you to do this. Do you understand?’
She nods seriously. ‘OK,’ she says, ‘why?’
She’s like her mother. One day Brodie will make a great prosecutor.
I take both of Brodie’s hands in mine and lean forward. ‘You know how Noelle was bullying you?’ I say. She nods. ‘Well, this is to help other people who are being bullied, in a really bad way,’ I add. ‘If we can find this book we can help them. We can stop them being bullied.’
Brodie’s eyes light up. ‘Really?’ she exclaims.
I nod.
‘We’d be like superheroes? Like the Incredibles or Kung Fu Panda?’
‘Exactly like them,’ I say. ‘We get to stop the bad guys.’
‘Deal!’ she says, beaming at me, and she goes running out of the room.
I’m so dazed that it takes me a long time to get my head together. I think back to Jeremy’s explanation of the competition with Tyler. Call of Duty, my arse. That wasn’t the competition he was referring to. I cannot believe that Jeremy has used me, was going to sleep with me to win points for what sounds like a game between him and Tyler. A long, revolted shudder rolls up my spine as I recall the way Tyler used to look at me, all those smirking faces and hand signals to Jeremy, while I sat there smiling like a simpleton. Goddamn it. I have been thoroughly and utterly used. And I was feeling pretty thoroughly and utterly used after last night anyway. I am such an idiot. How could I fall for it? What is wrong with me? I remember every touch, every kiss I shared with Jeremy, every whispered word of flattery. All that stuff about me having delicious thighs, all that talk of liking me. I grind my teeth at the memories. I want to take another shower.
I almost slept with him. I shut my eyes. Thank God Jesse walked in when he did, I think for the hundredth time but this time with so much gratitude I could burst into tears if my eyes weren’t burnt dry. If he hadn’t walked in I would have just been another number in this book. Just a way for Jeremy to win some stupid bet. I wonder, idly, how much I’m even worth before deciding it might be best if I never discover the answer to that question.
Slowly, dizzily, I walk to the bathroom, sink to my knees in front of the toilet and vomit.
I feel better when I sit up, as though I’ve purged some of him out of me. There’s only one thing left to do. And now I’m even more determined to do it. I am going to get my hands on this book and find a way to stop Jesse ruining his life – and hopefully destroy Tyler Reed in the process.
35
The thought strikes me as I stand in front of the mirror and brush my teeth that Tyler could very well be the killer the police are looking for. I mean if you want to talk suspects then here are the facts: he hates girls, he sexually abuses them, he’s cruel, narcissistic and let’s not forget he’s an arsehole to boot. I’m no police profiler, but those seem like good enough reasons for him to be arrested and charged, though without hard proof it’ll be very difficult to get a guilty verdict. I watch enough TV to know all this. And I also know that if Tyler ever thinks that the police are on to him then he will destroy any evidence in his possession. I have to be smarter than him, with his Ivy League credentials and defence attorney father.
Part of me dismisses the thought that Tyler is the person killing nannies as just stupid nonsense, projections from my overtired, vengeance-filled mind. Just because he and Jeremy have this stupid game going on (not stupid, I remind myself, thinking of Hannah, evil) doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a murderer. Just a class A fuck-wit. But I still can’t help wondering about the coincidences.
I flip my computer open. Straightaway Megan messages me. It’s something like three a.m. back home. She must be waiting up for me, sitting by her computer, I click on the message to open it.
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I told your mum. I just had to, she taps out furiously.
It’s OK.
You didn’t tell me the second one had died!
I knew you’d panic, I type.
You don’t think I know how to Google? I’ve been reading everything about it since you first mentioned it. They’re calling it the Nantucket Nanny Murders, Ren. Sorry. I just . . . I love you. I don’t want U TO DIE.
I know. I understand. It’s OK. I’m coming home.
When?
Tomorrow. I need to do something first.
What?
I have to see if I can fix something.
OMG. Is this so you can shag Jeremy because if it is please feel free to ignore my earlier advice.
It’s not a
bout him.
Good. You know, stay a virgin. Virgins are happier. Honestly. Come home an alive virgin.
It’s not about that. I broke up with Jeremy. (If that’s what you want to call it. I don’t think we were ever going out. I was just a number. I can’t tell Megan this yet, though. I don’t have it in me to explain everything right now. That will require several hours, a kilo of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk and a box of Kleenex.)
Why????
Long story. Tell you when I’m home. I need to get on.
OK. Ren, take care please. CW2CU.
I close my computer and start formulating a plan.
I take the kids to camp and then I drive as fast as is legal over to Miller’s bike shop. Even from a distance I can see the carnage. Glass still glitters in the road and on the pavement, although I can tell a good portion has been swept clear. The entire front of the store has been taken out and bikes lie on their sides as though a hurricane has swept through town and tossed the entire contents of the shop onto the sidewalk. I picture Tyler and Parker and Jeremy setting about the place and trashing it. Did they laugh? Did they think it was funny? I feel sick just thinking about it. All those times that Parker talked about them doing something, the time he left the party at the beach early – were they responsible for smashing in the door to Miller’s the day before I turned up to hire a bike?
Mr Miller is outside the store, directing some men in blue overalls who are busy fixing heavy boarding to the smashed window frames. He turns when he hears my footsteps crunching on the glass.
‘Hi, Ren,’ he says. He even tries to smile and my heart (the part not already broken) breaks all over again.
‘Hi, Mr Miller.’ I glance around again at the devastation. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, feeling helpless. ‘Do you know who did this? It’s awful.’
He shakes his head. But I see the way his eyes move to the left. He knows. He’s just not saying. First his daughter gets assaulted, then his son goes to prison and now his business is destroyed. The hatred I feel for Tyler Reed jumps up a scale and I get a gut-searing sense of what it feels like to be Jesse, just for a moment, before I wrestle it back under control.
The Sound Page 22
