The Deviants
Authors: C.J. Skuse
C.J. SKUSE
is the author of the YA novels PRETTY BAD THINGS, ROCKOHOLIC and DEAD ROMANTIC. She was born in 1980 in Weston-super-Mare, England. She has First Class degrees in Creative Writing and Writing for Children and, aside from writing novels, lectures in Writing for Children at Bath Spa University where she is planning to do her PhD. THE DEVIANTS is her fifth novel.
For my Auntie Margaret and Uncle Roy Snead,
Thank you for the days, those sacred days you gave me.
Contents
2. Moonlight Adventure Saturday, 1 August
4. The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat
5. An Old Friend One month earlier â 9 July
11. A Smashing Time and a Piece of Advice
13. Up To Mischief Tuesday, 4 August
15. A Rather Unpleasant Meeting
16. Junior Springs a Surprise!
19. A Rather Splendid Party Friday night, 21st August
24. Discoveries at the Witch's Pool
29. Five Have a Wonderful Time
I
'm sitting beside the café window when I see the man running up the beach and I instantly know it's washed ashore. The sand flicks up behind him as he sprints. And he's screaming.
His face is alive with fear. He's running so hard to get away from it, what he's found. In those brief moments, I am the only person in the café to see him. But, within seconds, the quiet crumbles into chaos.
âSomebody! Help!'
âWhat's he saying?'
âDid he say a body?'
Someone calls my name, but I don't turn around. I keep walking, out of the café, into the morning air, along the Esplanade, down the steps and onto the wet sand, like the sea is a magnet and I am metal.
People overtake me. Someone shouts, âCall the police.' Thudding footsteps, snatches of breath. The sand's covered in a billion worm hills and tiny white shells. A group of crows squawks nearby. They're all clustered around an object, pecking at it.
âLet the police handle it.'
âDon't look. Don't look.'
I keep walking towards the mound, until I can see for myself what the man was running from. Until I can see for myself what I have done.
âTell me everything. Start with what was happening between you and Max.'
Moonlight Adventure
Saturday, 1 August
I
t's like those really old paintings you see in art galleries â if you look at them from a distance, they're beautiful. A quick glance, it's a masterpiece. But as you get closer, you start to see all the cracks. We were a masterpiece, me and Max. We'd known each other for ever. We had the same taste in music. We finished each other's sentences. We ate Carte d'Or watching
Botched Up Bodies
and he'd pretend not to wince. We watched romantic comedies and he'd pretend not to cry. And he had these marvellous arms and always wore sleeveless hoodies in summer.
But close up, there were problems. And these problems were becoming harder to ignore. I was snipping at him more and he took nothing seriously.
He could still impress me though. This one night, he arranged a big surprise for me at the garden centre. I had no idea what the occasion was.
âYou don't remember, do you?'
There had to be a good reason why he'd gone to so much trouble. Not only had he stolen Neil's keys and broken us in after hours, he'd set up a table in the café, with lit candles,
buttered teacakes and two glasses of milkshake. It looked like something from a honeymoon brochure, with all the fairy lights strung up in the palm trees and the white cloth on the table. Essentially, though, we were still
in a garden centre
. I'd worn an actual dress and shaved my actual legs to be taken to a place that sold worm poo and weed killer.
âOf course I remember,' I lied. âThis is nice. Thanks.'
He folded his arms. âI could get quite offended, you know.'
âWhat?'
âYou don't have a Scooby, do you?'
âUmmmm, well⦠I'm pretty sure it's not my birthday. And you've just had
your
birthday, so that must mean that it'sâ¦' I scanned my brain for something, anything. What did 1 August mean? But I had nothing. Max looked so disappointed it was almost painful.
And then I got it. It was the synthetic strawberry smell of the shakes that did it.
Our first proper date, five years ago, when I was twelve and he was nearly thirteen and we realised we liked each other more than as the best friends we'd been since primary school. It had been here, in the café, supervised by our mums on another table. We'd had teacakes and strawberry milkshakes, and Max paid for it with his own money from his Pokemon wallet, even though his dad owned the store. Then we had our first proper kiss, inside one of the sheds, while the mums went to look at geraniums. On the way out, Max had held my hand.
My whole body flashed over with goosebumps. âOh God. I'm so sorry!'
âIt's all right.' He shrugged. âI wanted to do something without my parents or your dad being around. Something for us.' He pulled out a chair for me and sat down opposite.
âSo I thought we could come here when no one else was around, hang out and have teacakes and milkshakes, just like then. Well,
I
could, anyway.'
âWhat do you mean?'
Like a sadistic magician, Max whipped away my buttery teacake and creamy shake, replacing them with a bowl of freshly chopped fruit and an ice-cold bottle of Evian.
âI figured you'd be on low cal till breakfast. There's no orange or lemon, don't worry.'
I smiled, but my heart sank. My summer training plan meant I was on a strict low-carb low-fat diet. âOh, goodie.' It was sweet that he'd remembered to leave out the citrus, though. Only Max would know to do that.
âHappy anniversary, Ella Bella Boodles,' he said, leaning across to kiss me.
âHappy anniversary, Max,' I said.
We tucked in by the light of a salted caramel Yankee Candle. The fruit was freezing, and burst against my sensitive teeth like I was crushing gemstones. It was weird, being there when no one else was around. Normally when me and Max met for lunch there'd be loads of shuffling grannies with walking sticks, or kids on the next table having food fights or pasting stickers all over the undersides of their chairs. Tonight, but for the trickle of a water feature somewhere, the place was silent.
Outside, the night had coloured everything dangerous. Through the large glass windows, the looming mass of Brynstan Hill was just visible. They called our town Volcano Town. Apparently, in Old English, Brynstan meant âbrimstone' â that biblical âhell hath no fury' stuff. That was the only exciting thing about this little place â the fact that the huge green hill we lived around could spew out molten lava any old time, and blow all the sheep and Iron
Age remains to bits. At Easter they put three crosses on it. In November, they held a huge bonfire on the top with fireworks â from afar, it looked like an eruption. I liked the night. It was the only time of day I didn't have to stare at the bloody thing.
âDid I tell you Dad's bought a new car?' said Max, around a gobful of teacake.
I winced as I bit down on a freezing chunk of melon. âAnother one?'
âLimited edition Porsche 911 Turbo S. Over a hundred and forty grand. Grey leather seats.'
âGrim.'
âNo, it's sweet. The ride on it is unbelievable. Top speed's, like, two hundred miles an hour. Nought to sixty in three seconds. It's, like, one of the fastest cars in the world.'
â
Like
one of the fastest or
actually
one of the fastest?'
âOne of the fastest,' he said, his face alive with joy.
I chomped down on an apple chunk. âDon't say “like” then. If it's one of the fastest,
say
it's one of the fastest.'
âAll right, all right, easy, Tiger.'
âWhat's the point of a car that fast anyway? Can't drive it anywhere at that speed. It's ridic.'
âWhy are you so snippy?'
âI'm not snippy. It winds me up, that's all. Your dad spends money like it's going out of fashion, and my dad reuses tin foil.'
I hadn't realised how much my anger levels had risen in the last five minutes. Max was always the one who pointed out my potential bitchplosions; like a scientist keeping an eye on the heat levels inside the crater. But Neil â his dad â always had that effect on me. Everywhere he went in the town he was treated like royalty, all blinding smiles and
two-handed handshakes, but to me he was a show-off who stank of aftershave and wore too much gold.
âDad's earned it, Ells. You can't say he hasn't.'
âHow many new cars is that this year?'
âOnly three,' he said. âIt's being delivered from Germany in a couple of weeks. Oh yeah, Mum asked me to ask you to come over for lunch tomorrow.'
âBit late notice, isn't it?'
âYou haven't got anything on, have you?'
âYes, I have. Training.'
âYou don't train at weekends.'
âSummer regime.'
âWhat about next Sunday then?'
âI can't, Max. I can't mess Pete about.'
He closed up. I could tell he was pissed.
âMaybe the weekend after next?' I suggested, more to cheer him up than anything.
âYeah, yeah. I won't hold my breath. It's not haunted, you know. I know you said it freaks you out, but Jess isn't there, I promise.'
âI know. I'm sorry.' I felt bad about lying to him about that.
âI wish she
did
haunt it,' he said, a pink line of milkshake framing his top lip.
âFunny thing to wish,' I said, still feeling awful. I reached out to thumb away the mark from his mouth.
âI know. Sometimes you just need someone to talk to who's not your parents, don't you? Like a big sister.'
I reached out to him and pulled his hand towards me. I held it between both mine. âYou can always talk to me.'
âYeah, I know,' he said, with a smile. âSo, you'll come for lunch next Sunday then?'
I sank back in my chair. âYour mum always cooks everything in tons of lard.'
âYou can just have the veg, can't you?'
âOh, cheers. I'd rather just be with you anyway, not all your family.'
âIt's not all my family. It's just my aunts and uncles. And we don't have to stay with the olds all afternoon, do we? We can go into town, or across to the island, or something?'
That gave me actual chills, despite the warmth of the restaurant. âNo, not the island.'
âWe could hire a boat like we used to.'
âI don't
want
to hire a boat like we used to.'
âAll right, all right.' He threw down his half-eaten teacake and sat back.
âThere's just no point, is there? There's nothing to see. Just trees and a few old rocks.'
âIt doesn't matter, does it? We can just go there for some alone time. We used to spend whole days there when we were kids.'