Bet Your Life (17 page)

“Wait,” Will said, and I stopped, expecting anything but what he said. “Make sure the back door is locked. Tilly’s always leaving it open. There’ve been a few burglaries around here lately and Dad said I should warn you about it.”

“OK,” I said. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He nodded to Ryan and loped off without looking back. I watched him go, the usual ache around my heart. I was still trying to work out if seeing him was worse than not seeing him. Equally painful, I thought, but different. And not getting better.

I trudged the last few meters with my head down, not even minding that Ryan’s arm was still around my shoulders—barely noticing, in fact. We reached the porch and I ducked out from under his arm to get my keys, which had survived immersion in the ditch in the pocket of my poor coat. I pulled them out with a jangle and he put his hand on mine, holding it so I couldn’t open the door.

“Jess…”

“What is it?”

“Just—” He sighed. “Just reminding you I’m here.”

I looked up at him, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. Was I ignoring you?”

He grinned. “I’m not used to it.”

“You can’t have everything your own way, you know. That would be too easy.”

“Easy would be fine, actually. Easy is OK.” He reached out and stroked my cheek with his thumb. “Now is when I would usually try to kiss you, but—”

“Your mouth hurts too much,” I finished for him.

“Also, you always avoid it.”

“You usually try to kiss me in public. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, so here would be fine.” He started to pull me toward him. I backed away. “Or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “I’m a bit messed up.”

“As it turns out, that’s my type.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m less psychotic than your usual type, if we’re talking about Natasha.”

“Maybe a little less psychotic.” He twisted away as I went to thump him. “No more violence. I’ve had enough for one evening.”

“Me too. But thank you for tonight anyway.”

He looked guilty, which was actually pretty adorable. “Sorry for making you walk the long way round.”

“Are you really sorry?”

“Nope.” He looked down at me, and his expression changed to something serious for a moment. “I’m going to make you a promise.”

“Go on.”

“I’m not going to try to kiss you again.”

“OK…” I said slowly. It was what I had wanted, but now that he’d said it, I felt as if I’d lost something I cared about.

“Next time we kiss, it’ll be because you want to kiss me. Not the other way round.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Goodnight, Ryan,” I said.

“Goodnight, Jess.”

He was still standing there watching me when I closed the door. He looked like every girl’s dream, even with his cut lip, and I dragged myself to the kitchen to check the back door, feeling like an idiot. He was perfect in every way, and I liked him. But I didn’t
like
him. At least, I thought I didn’t. But I hadn’t thought about Will for at least five minutes, because of Ryan. Maybe Ryan was what I needed to get over him. I could think of worse ways to recover.

I stripped off my jacket and walked into the kitchen, smiling to myself, then gave a squeak as a hand clamped over my mouth. I fell back, off balance, and was caught, and held. And I knew who it was, even before he spoke.

“Don’t scream.”

I shook my head. Will let go of me slowly, and I turned round. “What’s with the breaking and entering?”

“The door was open.”

“I was just going to close it. Someone told me I should.”

“Someone wanted you to come to the kitchen.”

“Why?”

Will looked amused. “You can’t expect me to go home. Not when you’re wearing that dress.”

My stomach flipped over. “I didn’t think you liked it.”

“It’s very distracting.” He moved closer to me. “And I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

“Frighten me in the kitchen?”

“Not that.”

He came closer still, and put his hands on my hips, and my bones turned to water as he pushed me backward, gently, until I collided with the kitchen table. He lifted me up and sat me on the edge of it, not without an intake of breath that I realized later was down to his cracked rib. I slipped my arms around his neck as he stepped between my knees, closing the distance between us. My skirt slid up my thighs an extra inch or two. He said my name in a low voice, and then we were kissing and it made the room spin as if we were on a carousel. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even worry that it was a bad idea. Dizzy, I put one hand on the solid wood of the table, bracing myself as he dropped kisses down my neck. He trailed his fingers along my spine and I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I gasped as he dipped under the edge of the dress, his fingertips skimming over my skin. He pulled the material off my right shoulder and leaned in to kiss my collarbone.

“You would not believe how much I missed you.”

“Me too.” I touched his face, trying to make myself believe that this was really happening, and failing. “Kiss me again.”

I was watching his mouth and saw it curve into not quite a smile as he leaned in to me, and it made my heart flutter. This time he ran his hand up the length of my thigh and I shivered, holding onto him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

We could have kissed all night, and I would have been absolutely fine with that, but it was too good to last. He stopped kissing me and I opened my eyes to see he was frowning.

“You took a long time to say goodnight to Ryan.”

I blinked, changing gear. “I had a lot to say to him.”

“Like what?”

“Like thank you for taking me to the party.” I dropped my hands from Will’s shoulders.

“Did he kiss you?”

“Will, it’s not—”

“Did he?”

“No.” I tilted my head and waited for him to kiss me again, but he didn’t.

“Did you tell him to leave you alone?”

“Not in so many words, but—” I shook my head. “What is this? Are you jealous?”

“Why do you think I punched him in the mouth?”

Will was still standing between my knees but the distance between us seemed to stretch for miles. I pushed him back and slid off the edge of the table, pulling my dress back into place. “Well done. Mood officially ruined.”

“Sorry. I don’t like sharing.”

“First, it’s not up to you to ‘share’ me. It’s up to me to decide who I kiss, and when. And second, I like Ryan. Not in that way, but I like him. He flirts with me. You’re the one who’s making it into a big deal.”

Will’s jaw was clenched. “Really, what do you expect?”

“Less drama,” I snapped. “But I keep being disappointed. I thought you and Ryan weren’t going to fight anymore.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“There is no need for you to be jealous. I can handle Ryan.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said softly. “How do you think it makes me feel to know you’re here with him while I’m at school?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He folded his arms, his expression remote. “Now seems as good a time as any.”

“For what?”

“My second question.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

I waited, feeling very much as if I’d just run out of road. Will looked at me and I could see the confusion in his eyes. All of a sudden I knew what the question was going to be.

“Did you mean what you said when you broke up with me?”

“Which bit?” I asked carefully.

“The bit about not caring about me. The bit where you told me it was just a holiday romance.”

Great
. That
bit.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.” I shook my hair back, my expression bland.
Make it believable
. “What do you want me to say?”

“Say it didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” I repeated. “I had fun. But that’s it.”

I thought he was going to argue with me, but he didn’t. He nodded slowly. Then he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

“What was that?”

“That was me kissing you good-bye.” He went to the door and I couldn’t say anything to stop him, or bring him back. The door closed behind him and he was gone. I sat down at the table, and I cried as if my heart was breaking, because it was.

All over again.

12

The next morning I woke up early, with a hangover, which was more than unfair since I hadn’t had anything to drink at all. I got out of bed and saw my reflection: pale as paper, lank hair, dark shadows under my eyes. The classic post-break-up look. It wasn’t even as if Will and I had got back together again. All of the misery, none of the fun. It was the story of my life.

Someone had put a note under my door and I bent to pick it up, wincing as my head throbbed. It was from Ella: an apology that she had got back so late from the party. She was going to sleep in, unless I needed her, in which case I should wake her up. I checked the time: she’d had three and a half hours in bed. Not really enough to justify disturbing her. There was an arrow to the other side of the page and I turned it over.

I kissed H! H kissed me! OMG!

In spite of everything I laughed. I was glad someone’s romantic life was working out, even if mine was a disaster.

I went and had a long, very hot shower, ignoring Tom knocking on the door halfway through and shouting abuse through the keyhole. It had been a revelation to me that in a big family you had to hold your ground. I refused to hurry, emerging feeling altogether more human. Makeup helped too—wide-awake eyes, courtesy of mascara, and a healthy glow thanks to some blusher. No one would have guessed that I’d cried myself to sleep, slept badly, and woken up on the verge of tears before I even remembered why. I opened the curtains on a beautiful day, bright blue sky and a veil of frost turning the garden silver-white. Stepping over the hateful black dress, which I’d abandoned on the floor of my room, I found my oldest, softest jeans—the ones that were nearly falling apart—and boots, and a jumper that came down to my thighs. It felt better to be in my own clothes, instead of playing dress-up.

Downstairs, nothing was stirring. It was my day for getting notes: Mum had left one telling me she was going out to take some pictures before work. Tilly taught an art class in a local community center on Tuesdays and had already left. Jack was gone too. Hugo was asleep. Ella was asleep. Petra had eaten, judging by the crumbs on the kitchen table that had her napkin ring in the middle of them, but she had disappeared. Tom was going out to play football and was never exactly sociable anyway. The house was too quiet, and too full of memories. The previous evening haunted me, particularly the last bit. I averted my eyes from the table, standing up by the sink as I ate some cereal without tasting it. I washed the bowl, trying not to think about Will rinsing his mug there two days ago. Everywhere I looked, I saw something that reminded me of him. There would be no peace for me at Sandhayes. I couldn’t stay, but there was nowhere I needed to be. No one was waiting for me. All I wanted was something to take my mind off the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It was traditional to go to the seafront in Port Sentinel if you had nothing better to do. I went and got my parka, then walked into town. The weather was too still for the surfers and sailors to be happy, but there would be
something
to see. There weren’t many people around yet, because it was still early. I cut down Fore Street, seeing a couple of girls from the year below me. I didn’t know their names and there was nothing notable about them—except for their hair, which was a delicate shade of pink. I stopped and stared at them, amazed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’d been mocking Immy when I suggested she might start a trend, but of course there was nothing too stupid to become a craze in Port Sentinel if the popular girls did it. Weirdly, I felt much better about life all of a sudden. It had something to do with thinking the worst of people, and being right. It was also to do with the pink hair looking surprisingly good. I was almost tempted to give it a whirl myself.

The gallery wasn’t open yet. I kept walking, all the way down to a tiny public park that the Victorians had put at the bottom of Fore Street, mainly so they could surround it with municipal buildings. The council offices were on one side, the police station on another, facing the library. The fourth side was the town hall. The council offices and the police station were in Victorian gothic red brick, but the town hall and library were painted white, with Doric columns. All four buildings were too small to be properly grand, but then Port Sentinel was a rural backwater and had never been anything else. I wandered into the park, dodging predatory seagulls which assumed I was there to feed them. The leaves were beautiful against the very blue sky, in searing yellows and burning reds. I hoped Mum was taking advantage of the weather to capture the iconic image of Port Sentinel in the autumn, so we could afford to eat.

I sat on a bench for a little while, watching my breath plume in the cold air. A girl walked through the park, head down, her hands buried in the pockets of her coat. I glanced at her, then looked again as she ran up the steps to the library and slipped through the door. Lily Mancini, unless I was very much mistaken, and in a hurry. Without really thinking about it, I got up and followed her. I was curious about Lily. I really wanted to know whether Seb Dawson had anything to do with her spilling Ella’s drink and leaving work early, or if it was all a coincidence. There was no harm in asking.

The library was warm and smelled comfortingly of much-read books. Four rooms opened off the central space, where once there had been long tables and wooden chairs under a domed skylight. The skylight remained but the tables were gone, replaced by work stations for the public computers that sat there humming to themselves. I checked the other spaces: the children’s library, the periodicals room where some ancient crones were reading knitting magazines, the area for fiction, complete with armchairs, and, finally, nonfiction. It wasn’t a popular bit of the library, and it was where I usually ended up when I had homework to do. I saw the fur-trimmed hood of Lily’s coat. She was leaning over a table right at the back, talking to someone I couldn’t see. Helpfully, the bookshelves were set at an angle to the room, so I could slide in behind them and not be seen. I regretted not wearing trainers, but I tried not to make too much noise, drifting up to stare at a shelf of maps. East Anglia. The Western Isles. The Dordogne. Fascinating.