The Sound (22 page)

Eventually he checks his watch and I take that as my cue. I prop the guitar against the workbench and stand up. ‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘My pleasure,’ he answers.

I grab my bag and head out the door and as I go I notice a photograph tacked to the wall by the counter above the row of books. It’s a girl with dark hair and green eyes –
she’s about thirteen or fourteen and behind her stands a woman who I’m assuming is her mother. ‘Who’s that?’ I ask, stopping to look.

Jesse is right behind me. His chest brushing my shoulder.

‘That’s my sister Hannah and my mom,’ he says quietly.

‘Oh.’ That’s one mystery solved. I realise that I hadn’t even thought about Jesse’s mother. That he has a sister is in some ways surprising because he hasn’t
mentioned her but less so when I remember how sweet he was with that girl outside the bookshop. Maybe that was her.

‘They live just outside Boston,’ Jesse says.

That can’t have been her then. Maybe one of her friends.

‘Oh,’ I say again, then after a pause, ‘my dad doesn’t live with me either.’

Jesse is chewing his bottom lip and he’s still staring at the photograph. I feel a pang that I’ve managed to make him sad and try to think of something to say to undo it.

‘So, you want another lesson?’ he asks suddenly, his attention snapping back to me.

‘Yeah, that would be great,’ I answer, trying to sound cool.

‘How’s Saturday?’

I hesitate. I’m going sailing on Saturday with Jeremy and Parker.

‘Um,’ I say, ‘Sunday?’

He shrugs. ‘Sure. See you then.’

He turns away, his eyes glancing over the photograph before he heads back inside the workshop.

I walk out into the sunshine and find Mr Miller there, arranging the bikes that are for rent.

Hello,’ he says when he sees me, smiling brightly.

‘Hi,’ I say.

He nods his head at the door. ‘Was that you Jesse was teaching to play guitar?’

I nod. ‘Yeah.’

‘He’s a good boy,’ Mr Miller says to me, ‘whatever you hear about him, he’s got a good heart. He was only trying to do the right thing. It wasn’t his
fault.’

‘I don’t understand—’ I start to say, but just then the door swings open. Jesse is standing there. He glances between us. Mr Miller starts polishing one of the bikes.

‘I was just leaving,’ I mumble.

‘Bye,’ Jesse says and he watches me as I walk back to the car.

When I envisioned myself sailing, wearing a bright orange life jacket and hurling over the side of the boat while Jeremy battled the perfect storm, I could not have imagined
how close to the truth that vision would become. Other than the perfect storm part. There was no perfect storm. Just perfect humiliation.

You actually threw up in front of him?

Yes
, I type. My legs still feel like they are swaying even though they’re tucked beneath me on the bed.

OMG
, Megan types.

Yes.

OMG!

Yes.
I punch the keys wondering how long she’s going to keep OMGing.

That is so embarrassing.

Thanks for pointing that out.

How did Jeremy take it?

Well, considering.

I remember Jeremy patting me on the back and handing me a bottle of water. I remember Parker laughing (Paige is right, I take it all back about him being alright, he’s a total jerk). And I
also remember Eliza (who shouldn’t have been there but whose sole purpose in life seems to be to bear witness to my humiliations) laughing her arse off. If I hadn’t been too busy
leaning over the railing throwing up for the fishes I would probably have smacked her one. I wonder if Eliza’s high-pitched laughter will become the abiding soundtrack of my time in Nantucket
and groan inwardly.

The photos are amazing
, Megan writes and I know that she is trying to make me feel better. She’s talking about the photographs I’ve just posted to Facebook. There are none
from the sailing trip – funnily enough – but there are some from the beach and the July fourth celebrations.

You look so hot in that bikini.

I glance at the photograph on the screen that she is talking about. It’s one that I took on my phone of me and Jeremy. He has his arm around me, the sea glints in the background. Three
weeks ago I would have thought,
Take that Will!
Now I couldn’t care less.

And he is seriously yum. So have you decided?
(A row of winking emoticons follows.)

I know instantly what she is talking about because one way or another, with Megan the conversation always comes back to sex.

I hesitate, with my fingers dancing above the keys. I’m not sure whether I should tell her or not.

There’s this other boy
, I finally type.

OMG. Who? Tyler?
she demands.

No. Jesse.
Even as I type his name my fingers are shaking.

The bike guy? You have the hots for the bike guy? What does he look like?

Like a cross between Damien from The Vampire Diaries (only taller) and Alex Fuentes from Perfect Chemistry.

Are you trying to make me die of lust?

No. I’m just describing him.

I hate you right now. Just so you know.

There’s just one problem.

He’s gay?

No.

He has a bitch skank girlfriend?

No.

He has a really nice supermodel girlfriend?

No.

He doesn’t know you exist?

No.

I pause, wondering if I should mention Jesse’s reputation for being a player but decide just to stick with the main issue for the moment.

He kind of beat the crap out of someone.

OMG did you vomit up your brains or something? Are you insane? Steer clear.

He’s not like that though. He’s really sweet.
Even as I type it I realise how it must sound. If the situation were reversed I’d be yelling at Megan right about
now.

Yeah, that’s what they said about the Boston Strangler and Hannibal Lecter. Are you out of your mind?

The guy he beat up totally deserved it.

And now you sound like a victim of domestic violence. Ren, I am officially worried about you.

Damn, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.

If you get with this Jesse guy I’m going to tell your mother.

Don’t you DARE.

Maybe he’s the one killing the nannies.

It isn’t him
, I type furiously.

That’s the whole point. You never think it’s the guy that it always ends up being. It’s him. For sure. I’m never wrong on these things.

Last week you thought it was Mike.

Well this week I think it’s him.

I need to deflect her and swiftly before she logs out and calls my mum.

It isn’t Jesse. It doesn’t matter anyway. Because he really absolutely totally has no interest in me. I’m the human equivalent of catnip to him.

That’s why you like him. Because he’s not interested in you (for which, by the way, he’s stupid but for which I’m also GRATEFUL cos I want my BFF to NOT
DIE).

I barely read the last part because I’m thinking about what she’s said about me being interested in Jesse only because he’s not interested in me. I’m trying to work out
how true this might be.

There’s only one thing to do
, Megan writes.

What?

Sleep with Jeremy.

?

That will help you forget Jesse.

I’m not sure of the logic
, I write.

Look, I’m your BFF. Would I lie to you? So believe me when I tell you that THE ONE does not exist. I know you want him to. I wish for your sake that he did. But remember you thought it
was Will. Wrong. It isn’t this guy Jesse either because he sounds like an insane asylum. This guy Jeremy is a hottie. He is rich. He is into you. He’s romantic. He told you you have
delicious thighs and you said he’s a good kisser. He also watched you puke and didn’t run for the hills.

He couldn’t run for the hills because we were on open water but I don’t have the energy to type a witty retort.

You want unicorns and rainbows and care bears in the sky and Twilight style declarations of eternal love? Well – newsflash – it ain’t gonna happen, Ren.

I am chewing my cheek by this point as Megan’s words keep on flowing.

So my advice for what it’s worth is to get it over with. Have fun with Jeremy (THE NON VIOLENT ONE) and forget this Jesse guy.

Maybe, I think to myself, Megan has a point.

I turn up at Miller’s on Sunday morning as planned for my guitar lesson because even though Megan has a point it would be rude to cancel. Jesse is not in the workshop
though, he’s waiting for me outside, leaning against the wall. And instead of holding a guitar he’s holding something that looks suspiciously like a fishing rod.

I slow my pace. ‘Is that some kind of new string instrument?’ I ask when I’m close.

He gives me that dangerous half-smile. ‘I thought it was such a beautiful day we could go to the beach and do the guitar lesson later.’ He seems extremely confident of my agreement
(he’s holding two fishing rods after all) but I’m sure I see a glimmer of worry in his eyes also that I’m going to say no.

‘Which beach?’ I ask.

He looks instantly relieved. ‘Smith’s Point. The far west of Madaket.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Sounds fun.’

He piles two fishing rods and a bucket which seems to contain something alive and squirming, and which I therefore avoid looking at, into the flatbed of the truck and then glances over at me.
‘Shotgun or in the back with the bait?’

‘Shotgun,’ I say and he opens the door for me.

We start driving and I wind down the window to let in some air.

‘I read your blog piece about the band,’ Jesse says, shooting me a quick look. ‘I read all your posts in fact.’

I turn my head to look at him. All my blog posts? That’s close to two hundred posts. That would have taken him a really long time.

‘You’re a really good writer. I can see why you’ve got so many followers.’

I shrug. I’m not sure how exactly but I have three thousand followers which is pretty huge in blogger terms.

‘You’re going to do well. I know it. It’s cool that you’re following your dream.’

I smile to myself and glance out of the window so he can’t see. A silence sits between us. I think of Jesse stuck in the bike shop trying to help his dad save it from going under. I wish
there was something I could do to change things for him.

‘What happened with your parents?’ he suddenly asks, looking across at me. ‘You said you didn’t live with your father.’

‘He left when I was five,’ I blurt. ‘It was another woman. His secretary. Total cliché.’ I feel the tightness in my chest wind its way around my throat. ‘He
married her. They have two kids now.’ My voice catches despite myself. ‘He’s busy with them I guess.’ I give a little shrug. Jesse’s the first person, other than
Megan, that I’ve ever told that to.

Jesse swears under his breath, and his hand suddenly covers my own and squeezes. ‘His loss,’ he says and he gives me a quick smile before his hand returns to the wheel. I breathe out
slowly, more easily.

‘What about your mum and sister?’ I ask, glancing at him sideways. ‘When did your parents break up? When you were little?’

He rams the truck up a gear and I watch the muscles tense all the way up his arms, along his shoulders and neck into his jaw. He takes a while to answer and I regret asking him but then he says
quietly, without looking at me: ‘They haven’t broken up. My mom’s just staying with Hannah at my aunt’s house for the summer. They’ll be back.’

‘Oh,’ I say, feeling stupid. ‘I just assumed . . . ’

‘No, that’s OK. For a while I thought they might split up, after what happened, but they love each other.’ He frowns some more and I notice his hands on the steering wheel are
white-knuckled. ‘In all this that’s the one thing I hope for the most, you know? That they stay together and that my sister is OK.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Fourteen.’ He glances at me. ‘You’d like her. She’s really funny. And really into music. Though I’m trying to educate her beyond Taylor Swift and Justin
Bieber.’

I wince. ‘I could help you with that.’

He smiles sadly at me. ‘Yeah, but I guess you won’t ever get to meet her. When are you leaving again?’

‘August eleventh,’ I say, ‘I need to get back.’ I think of university in September and then I think of my A level results and wonder whether I will, in fact, be going to
university after all.

‘To your boyfriend?’ Jesse asks.

‘Um, yeah,’ I say, wishing like hell I’d never told Jesse that I had a boyfriend and wishing as well that I’d told him the truth about Jeremy, but now it feels too late,
and if I tell him he’ll laugh at me or hate me or think I’m generally pathetic. Or possibly all of the above.

‘Four more weeks,’ Jesse says. He seems to be doing some silent calculation in his head. ‘We better have some fun then.’

I sink back in my seat and wrap my arms around my body, feeling the warmth seep through me.

We drive straight out onto the beach at Smith’s Point and park up. Jesse jumps out of the truck and grabs the equipment from the flatbed before leading us down the beach towards the cut
– which is like an alley of water running down the beach in which Jesse tells me the fish like to hang out and play (and impale themselves on hooks too). There are several fishermen stationed
along the water and we choose a spot a little bit away from them.

I have never jammed a live animal onto a piece of sharpened steel before and I’m not really liking the idea all that much I have to say. Jesse is kneeling over the bucket of eels. He sees
my gross-out face and laughs. ‘Is this going to be like the bike chain episode,’ he asks, ‘with you not wanting to get your hands dirty?’