The Sound (19 page)

Jesse takes a deep breath, seems to consider Tyler’s words and then nods. ‘Sounds worth it to me,’ he growls and he throws Austin off and sends his fist flying through the
air.

‘Jesse!’ I scream.

The whole world seems to stop in that instant. Jesse’s hand freezes in mid-air, the fire stops crackling, the ocean stops pounding and everyone turns to me. My cry echoes and bounces
across the beach, seeming to stretch forever. Jesse is staring straight at me, a look of confusion on his face at seeing me there.

‘Don’t,’ I say in a much quieter voice, meant just for him.

His mouth tightens in a grimace. I’m pleading with him silently. His fist is still raised and Tyler is leaning forwards almost as if he’s inviting it and everything seems to hang on
that moment. And then the sound of a police siren shatters the silence.

‘Come on, man,’ Austin says straightaway, pulling on Jesse’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

Jesse stays frozen, still staring at me, as Austin and Niki start pulling him backwards. His attention snaps back to Tyler. ‘We’re not done,’ he spits.

Tyler laughs under his breath. ‘That’s funny, I used those exact words myself.’

Jesse lunges again, Sophie screams and I feel a wave of nausea but Austin and Tara manage somehow to keep Jesse out of range. Tyler throws his head back and laughs then walks away towards the
fire. Jesse stares after him, breathing heavily, and then he shoots me a look that almost knocks me off my feet before he turns around, throws his arm around Tara’s shoulder and stalks
away.

‘Come on,’ Jeremy says, taking my arm. ‘We need to get out of here before the police come.’

The siren wails are getting louder. I let Jeremy lead me because I’m still in shock from what just happened and reeling from the look Jesse gave me before he walked off. As though I had
betrayed him just by being there.

‘Oh thank God!’

I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart slamming like a clawhammer into my ribs. Carrie is standing in the doorway to my room, clutching a hand to her chest.

‘Thank God,’ she says again, almost collapsing against the door.

‘Thank God what?’ I ask, my blood pounding in my ears.

‘A girl was attacked last night,’ Carrie says, breathlessly, ‘on the beach. I just heard on the radio. They said it was a foreign girl, no other details. I just
had—’ She breaks off and draws in a deep breath. ‘We didn’t hear you come home last night.’

‘A girl was attacked?’ I say, another shot of adrenaline surging through me.

Carrie nods. ‘She was found unconscious in the water.’

‘Where?’

‘On Dionis – is that where you were last night?’

I nod. My brain is slow to wake up, to reach through the fog and the events of last night and process what she’s telling me.

‘Did you see anything?’ Carrie asks.

‘Um, no,’ I shake my head, ‘I mean . . .’ I think of the almost fight that happened between Jeremy and Jesse, ‘. . . no,’ I say again.

Mike appears behind Carrie in the door, holding Braiden. ‘Is everything OK?’ he asks. He looks tired, his eyes are bleary and he has a day’s growth of stubble darkening his
cheeks.

Carrie turns to him. ‘A girl was attacked last night on Dionis beach.’

Mike looks stunned. He looks at me. ‘You’re OK though, Ren?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, still dazed. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You need to be careful,’ Carrie says to me. ‘I’m not sure I want you out at night anymore. I feel responsible for you.’

‘She’ll be OK, Carrie,’ Mike interjects. ‘Don’t panic her. Did they find out who did it?’

‘No,’ Carrie says. She’s frowning now and biting her lip.

Brodie’s yells interrupt us. ‘Mom!’

Carrie immediately disappears, heading downstairs to Brodie.

Mike is still standing in the hallway just outside my room. ‘I wonder if it’s the same guy,’ he muses to himself as he rocks Braiden.

‘Huh?’ I say. I’m still feeling bleary.

‘The same man who killed that Brazilian nanny last year,’ Mike says and he wanders off.

I clutch the quilt to my chest and swallow hard. Just then the doorbell downstairs goes and several seconds later I hear Carrie shouting my name.

‘Ren! It’s for you.’

I check the time. It’s seven in the morning. Who the hell could it be? Carrie’s tone sounds terse. I stumble from bed and glance quickly in the mirror. I look like a bag of vomit. My
hair is standing up all over the place and my hurried attempt to take off my mascara last night has resulted in two black eyes. I wipe at them while smoothing my hair down. I’m in a pair of
shorts and a camisole top, so I pull a shirt on over the top wondering if it’s Jeremy. Maybe I left something in his car and he’s returning it. I lean closer in to the mirror and check
my teeth are clean. I don’t have time to brush them or wash my face because Carrie shouts my name again – this time with a distinct hiss to her tone.

I come down the stairs feeling a little nervous and still trying to swipe at my bleeding mascara. Carrie is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The front door is closed and the hallway is
empty. I glance at her questioningly. ‘There’s someone here to see me?’ I ask.

She glares at the door, then back at me. ‘Yes.’

‘Who?’ I ask, feeling suddenly afraid.

‘Jesse Miller,’ she whispers. ‘What is he doing here at seven in the morning?’

‘I have no idea,’ I say honestly to Carrie.

‘Well get rid of him,’ Carrie says impatiently and marches into the kitchen.

My legs are shaking as I open the door. Jesse is standing right there, one foot on the top step of the deck, as though he’s about to charge the door. His shoulders visibly drop when he
sees me. I run a hand through my hair then cross my arms over my chest. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. What I’m thinking is –
how am I going to explain this to
Carrie?

‘I heard the news on the radio and wanted to see if you were OK.’

I frown at him. He came here to check I was OK? My anger is fully deflated. I can’t help wondering if Jeremy would do the same – or if he’ll even call to see that I’m OK
once he hears the news.

‘I’m fine,’ I say to Jesse.

‘They said it was a foreign girl who was nannying,’ he mumbles. ‘I thought—’ He stops abruptly, shaking his head. ‘Look, I’ll go. I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to wake you.’ He steps off the deck and starts walking backwards towards a truck that’s parked in the drive behind Carrie’s car. ‘I didn’t have your
number otherwise I would have called.’

He throws open the door to the truck.

Before I can stop myself, I have crossed the deck and am shouting his name. ‘Jesse?’

Straightaway I’m thrown back to last night on the beach. He freezes this time too – his hand on the door – and watches me as I walk towards him, without shoes, my bare feet
hurting on the gravel. As I get close I can’t help but notice the stress and tiredness etched around his eyes. I get a hit of nervousness as I stop next to him. The door of the truck a
barrier between us.

‘Thanks,’ I say, holding his gaze.

He smiles faintly, quickly. ‘No worries. I’m glad you’re OK.’ He makes to get in the truck.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask, holding on to the door. ‘I mean, after last night?’

He considers me for a beat. Then he nods.

I glance back at the house and see a curtain twitch. Shit. Carrie is watching me. And she probably thinks I’m some kind of total slutbag. I screw my eyes shut and try to think of a way
through this.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jesse says quietly, ‘I shouldn’t have come.’ He’s looking at the twitching curtain too and I cringe. He glances up at me through those
thick black lashes and I hear myself telling him that it’s OK.

And then more shockingly I hear myself asking him to meet me later at the bookshop in town.

He hesitates and straightaway I feel like a total idiot. Why am I asking him to meet me? Obviously it’s because my brain is suffering humiliation withdrawal symptoms and needs some more
high-level rejection to get me through the day.

‘OK,’ Jesse finally says, ‘I can meet you at ten.’

I nod, feeling relief rush through me so fast that I’m panting when I say, ‘OK, see you then.’

He slams the door and reverses down the drive.

I walk back inside slowly, open the front door as quietly as possible and tiptoe across the hallway. I don’t want to have to try to explain to Carrie what Jesse was doing here. I need some
time to come up with a plausible motive for his visit.

Carrie however is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a steaming mug of coffee and wearing her prosecutor’s face.

I shrink against the banister.

‘What was he doing here?’ she asks.

Mike appears behind my shoulder, peering over a newspaper. He looks just as interested in my answer as Carrie.

‘He heard the news about that girl and was worried that it was me who’d got attacked,’ I explain.

‘And why would he be worried about you?’

‘He was worried that if it was me that he’d lose the money for his bike,’ I say. It is, I think, not my best effort.

They raise their eyebrows at me in unison – unimpressed jurors.

I try again. ‘I’m just friends with him, that’s all.’ Then add quickly, ‘There’s nothing going on between us, if that’s what you’re
thinking.’

‘Ren, what you get up to and who you see in your free time is nothing to do with us,’ Mike says, offering me an apologetic smile, and I’m fairly sure his elbow is poking into
Carrie’s ribs, silencing her, because she shuts her mouth pretty damn quick. ‘But given the circumstances,’ he continues, ‘and until they catch whoever did this, I do want
to know where you’re going to be and with whom when you’re out.’

I nod. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’d better hurry up and have a shower so I can take the kids to camp.’

In the car on the way to camp I tune into the local radio station. The attack on the nanny is the only news story on air. I catch the end of an interview with the local police
chief who says that the girl was found in the early hours of the morning, unconscious, and was taken by air ambulance to the mainland where she is in a critical but stable condition –
whatever that means. The police guy is deliberately vague about her injuries even when the reporter probes for details. The only facts he gives are that she was nineteen and working as a nanny for
a family who were summering on the island. Her name and nationality are being withheld until her family have been notified. I switch it off after the reporter starts positing theories about a
serial attacker at large and wondering out loud who’ll be next.

My hands are shaking on the wheel and a storm of nausea is brewing in my stomach by the time we arrive in town. As I lead Brodie through the playground I glance around at the other children
being dropped off by their parents. I am the only nanny. Unless the old lady next to me is a teenage nanny in disguise and not a grandmother. Suddenly Nantucket feels very, very small and the
number of nannies seems finitely smaller. I can’t help looking over my shoulder as I walk back to the car and once I’m behind the wheel I slam the lock down on the door. I’m being
silly, I say to myself. I am in no danger. But I’ve seen enough episodes of
Bones
and
CSI
to doubt that. I don’t want to be the one who ends up as a chalk outline
surrounded by yellow police tape all because I decided that looking after two small children was a better option than staying in England and facing my ex-boyfriend down in the pub. It would be just
so typical of my life.

I drive slowly back into town and park up – taking an end spot so I can’t get wedged in again. I’m a little early. I try to stop thinking about the news and start planning what
I’m going to say to Jesse. I asked him to meet me because I felt like it was my fault that he was even on the beach last night looking for Tyler. If I hadn’t told him that Parker had
come to the bike-decorating stall looking for him then he might never have found out. I want to try to convince him to stop this fight with Tyler. A part of me recognises that I’m kidding
myself that Jesse might actually listen to me but another part of me, the part that saw him stop when I called his name last night, thinks that maybe there is hope that he will.

I see Jesse before he sees me. He’s standing outside the bookshop holding two coffees in his hand and two paper bags. I can’t help smiling at the sight of him in jeans and a white
T-shirt that offsets his tan (OK, and his muscles) and I start walking faster automatically, before forcing myself to slow down. He looks nervous, rocking back and forth on his heels, chewing his
lip. He checks his watch and then looks in my direction, sees me and smiles before his body relaxes into a slouch. I laugh under my breath.

When I get close he hands me one of the polystyrene cups.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘I took a wild guess,’ he answers, indicating the coffee.

I take a sip. Latte. One sugar. Vanilla syrup.

‘Did I guess right?’ he asks.

‘Maybe,’ I answer, wondering whether it’s possible that he has some weird psychic ability. Then I remember he saw me drinking a latte and eating a chocolate muffin that time in
the bookshop. Still, I’m impressed he took note.

He can tell by the way I take another sip and can’t stop from smiling that he guessed right and he grins. Then his expression turns serious all of a sudden. ‘Come on,’ he says,
nudging me with his elbow. ‘Let’s walk.’

I glance down the street.

‘Worried about being seen in public with me?’ he asks. I glance quickly back in his direction because he’s read my mind. Again. I am worried that someone will see me but
I’m also angry at myself for caring what anyone else thinks of me.

Jesse’s smile is gently mocking but beneath it I can see he’s serious. It’s a dare. He’s challenging me. He wants to know what side I’m on. I study him. I
don’t want to choose sides. But right now he’s made it so I have to.

I start walking in answer and wait for him to catch up with me. When he does he’s smiling and his body is relaxed as he slows to a stroll at my side and hands me the paper bags. I open one
and discover a chocolate muffin. The most direct way to this girl’s heart. Oh God. I then glance in the second, wondering how on earth he can possibly top this breakfast from heaven, and see
that he’s actually managed to. With no free hands I struggle to pull out the book that’s inside but I’ve already seen the title. It’s the new David Mitchell book. I stop in
my tracks, my mouth falling open very attractively. I don’t know what to say. No one has ever given me a book before as a present. Except for Megan who gave me a copy of
The Joy of
Sex
for my birthday last year in an effort to educate my virgin self.