Time After Time (22 page)

‘I’m not sure. His brother’s in town so he might be hanging with him.’

We were silent for a few moments before I spoke again. ‘Hey, what’s up with you and the basketballer?’

Beth’s eyes became glassy and she didn’t look at me. ‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I cajoled, ‘I thought it was all go?’

Beth lowered her head and I was surprised to see her eyes well with tears. ‘It was. Until he decided I wasn’t good for his image.’

I stared at her; I was hurt and horrified on behalf of my friend. That someone would feel like that about
me
I could completely understand, but I was furious that someone had dared to do that to Beth.

‘Well, you’re way better than someone like him,’ I snorted. ‘I told you, they’re all losers. A flock of sheep.’ My gaze shot over to where the basketball team sat laughing, probably cracking up over some ridiculous, lame joke.
Probably laughing at us
.

Marcus arrived and squeezed into the seat beside me, giving my shoulder a quick peck. His eyes met mine briefly, which sent a warm shiver down my spine.

‘Do you want us to leave?’ Beth rolled her eyes as Laura joined us.

‘Absolutely not!’ I cried.

Beth looked at Marcus. ‘Are you coming tomorrow night?’

‘Tomorrow night?’ Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

‘
Hurricanes
,’ I explained. ‘You’re welcome to come.’

‘Sure,’ Marcus said easily. ‘
Hurricanes
it is.’

‘Maybe we can invite your brother too?’ Laura suggested.

Marcus stiffened beside me. The movement was almost imperceptible, and if he hadn’t been sitting so close, I never would have noticed. But he
was
sitting close, his thigh resting against mine, and I did notice. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replied stiltedly.

‘Ah, why not?’ crooned Laura, oblivious to the sudden tension.

‘I think he’s busy,’ Marcus replied. ‘And I don’t think
Hurricanes
is really his scene.’

‘Ask him anyhow,’ she shrugged, ‘Abbie, you ask him.’

‘I haven’t met him,’ I informed them.

‘He’s in the air force,’ Marcus interjected loudly, startling everyone, me included. ‘He’s only just back.’

Beth and Laura shot me looks, but I averted my eyes. The fact that Marcus was keeping his brother away from me was apparent.
Why
he was doing so was not so apparent, and I had the overwhelming suspicion that it had something—everything, maybe—to do with Sebastian.

I walked into art class a little later, Marcus by my side, with a lighter heart and a clearer head. Having already sat through biology, English, and history, I’d forgotten all about Marcus’ brother and Sebastian, feeling once again happy in my close proximity to Marcus and the warm, soothing heat that radiated from him.

I stopped dead in my tracks, staring straight ahead.

‘Oh, Abbie,’ groaned Marcus. ‘I’m so sorry.’

My painting. The one I’d worked on all term, the one of my beautiful parsonage that I’d put my heart and soul into, was ruined. Someone had scrawled across it with dark orange paint. It dripped down the canvas, pooling at the bottom of the easel, still wet.

I chewed my lip and willed myself not to cry.
Never cry
, I reminded myself, trying to locate the hostility that’d been almost absent these past few weeks. But it was gone. Suppressed or gone, I didn’t know, but something in Marcus’ kindness had pulled me into an artificial happiness.

My painting
, I wanted to cry,
My beautiful, beautiful painting
.

‘Oh no!’ cried Miss Morup, appearing by our sides. ‘Who would do such a thing? Oh Abbie, after all the work you put in!’

Still I didn’t move. Marcus squeezed my hand, and I focused on him, on the feel of his fingers wrapped securely around mine. On the way he pulled me towards him, like he would suck my pain and disappointment into him. But it was no good; my palms were too sweaty, slipping against his, and the connection was lost, my insides dissolving. To make matters worse, my bottom lip began to quiver.

‘Let’s see if we can clean it up,’ Miss Morup said soothingly, moving away to get some materials to try repairing the damage.

I stared at the canvas. The scrawled words blocked the cobblestone church and obscured the blue of the sky. The only section still visible was the dark clouds of the gathering storm overhead, flashes of silver lightning amongst the grey fog I’d spent hours working on.

House of Horrors
, the graffiti read. It wasn’t even original. My painting, my home, had been ruined for a weak, pathetic insult.

‘You okay?’ Marcus’ warm voice whispered in my ear.

I nodded, choking on a sob I refused to release.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’

I nodded again, hot, fresh tears slipping traitorously from the corners of my eyes. Marcus wrapped a shielding arm around my shoulders and led me from the room. I kept my head down, my vision blurring as salty tears overflowed.

Marcus walked me down the hallway a little then sat me on a bench as gingerly as if I was a fragile china doll. He crouched in front of me.

‘Do you want to cry?’ he asked kindly.

I shook my head but felt hot tears on my cheeks betraying me. I didn’t
want
to cry, but I was crying nonetheless.

‘Who would do something like that?’ Marcus wondered out loud, and I stopped my stream of tears, swallowing hard as I stared at him.

‘Are you kidding?’ I ground out. ‘I know
exactly
who did this.’

‘Who?’

‘Lilly.’ Anger started to pulse through my veins, and I was secretly pleased. Anger was a much more familiar emotion. Through anger I could stop the tears.

‘Really? You think Lilly would stoop that low?’ He didn’t seem convinced.

I nodded. I knew that the juvenile, pathetic, cruel, thoughtless, childlike act was
exactly
the sort of stunt Lilly would pull. I’d had plenty of exposure to Lilly’s taunts over the years and knew the girl inside out.

House of Horrors
. I shivered at the ominous words.

I didn’t wait for Marcus or Beth after school but caught the bus. My phone trilled as soon as I sat down.

It was Marcus.

‘Abbie, you okay?’ His voice trembled slightly with concern.

‘I’m fine. I just wanted to get home.’

‘Why didn’t you wait for me? I would’ve given you a lift.’

‘I know, but…Marcus, who is your brother?’

‘My brother? What’s he got to do with anything?’

I closed my eyes. He was avoiding the question. In a tight, controlled voice, I repeated, ‘
Who is your brother?’

There was a pause. ‘I told you. He’s in the air force. On leave. He’s only here for a short time.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Abbie, what’s going on? Why are you so interested in him all of a sudden?’ Marcus snorted bitterly on the other end of the phone. ‘Figures though, he always gets the girls.’

I squeezed the phone in my hand. ‘How could I possibly be interested in your brother when I’ve never even met him? When I’ve never even seen him?’

‘Is
that
what this is all about? You want an introduction?’

‘I want to know who he is.’
Why was he being so difficult? So secretive?
This whole conversation was unlike any that I had ever had with Marcus. Even when I’d been short and unfriendly he’d always been open and easygoing, as if nothing bothered him.

Silence on the other end of the line greeted me, and I could imagine Marcus chewing his bottom lip, the way he did sometimes when he was thinking. Eventually, he said, ‘You
have
seen him, Abbie.’

I gasped.
No, no, no, no…
‘What?’

‘I saw you watching us the other day when we came back from our run.’

I sighed. I wasn’t getting anywhere with him. ‘Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you later.’ I hung up.

Immediately my phone trilled again, and I flicked it open angrily. ‘What?’

But it wasn’t Marcus. ‘Abbie?’

I relaxed. ‘Oh, Simone. Sorry. I thought you were Marcus.’

‘Very glad that’s not my chilly reception,’ Simone said, a slight inflection in her voice. ‘I was wondering if you can work tonight? Lock up for me, maybe?’

‘Another date?’ I asked wryly.

‘Uh-huh. You don’t mind, do you? It doesn’t sound like you have plans with Marcus.’

No
, I thought bitterly,
it certainly doesn’t
. ‘Sure. No worries. I’ll see you later.’ I flicked my phone shut and stared out the window as the bus jerked and lurched along.

I sighed, sliding down in the seat with my head full of weary thoughts that just went round and round, the same unanswered questions appearing over and over again. I had to make a trip to the state library. I needed to do more reading.

I needed answers.

I made sure I was on time for work that night, not wanting to arouse Mr Frank’s ire any further. Plus, I hated to disappoint Simone.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Simone gushed as she finished applying lipstick. She flicked her hair over her shoulders and grinned at me. ‘How do I look?’

‘You look great,’ I told her, somewhat amused. ‘You really like this guy?’

‘Oh god, what’s not to like? He’s intelligent, charming, conversational and—’

‘Hung like a horse?’ I interjected, watching as Simone’s face darkened.

‘Abbie! Why do you have to be so crass?’ she hissed. ‘You really shouldn’t talk like that. You shock people.’

‘I like shocking people. And
some people
shock easier than others.’

Simone looked at me hard for a moment, the colour in her cheeks fading slightly. ‘I see. Will you be okay? It’s quiet anyway. And Daniel’s here if you need him.’

I glanced over to where Daniel sat completely absorbed in a computer game. ‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Be good, Abbie!’

‘Get laid, Simone!’

I spent the evening reading various reincarnation websites, but I didn’t learn anything new. What more was there to know? There wasn’t any evidence of the phenomenon despite the various kooks and mystics who suggested it was real.

Curiously, I switched over to Google and typed ‘Penelope Broadhurst’. I didn’t really expect there to be any hits and wasn’t surprised when all I got was an obituary for a woman who died a few years ago. No Penelope Broadhurst from 1806—if that was even when I’d died. Although I was pretty sure about the date. With Sebastian closing in, Penelope wouldn’t have had long.

Hopefully, Penelope had never known what happened and was spared from feeling the final moments of her life when Sebastian sprung like a lurking lion and tore the life from her. I wished that for Penelope more than anything.

Having waved Daniel goodbye, I was locking up when Marcus sauntered in. He looked gorgeous in dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt, the Foo Fighters logo splashed across its front.

Flashing his lopsided smile at me, his brown eyes crinkling at their corners, he brushed a fallen lock of hair off his forehead. I couldn’t take my eyes off him; he was completely and utterly mesmerising.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Meredith said you were working. You finished?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Need a lift home?’

‘I can catch the bus.’

‘You don’t need to.’

‘I want to.’

‘You want to catch the bus?’ He looked at me, his expression hurt.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘C’mon, Abbie, why are you being difficult?’ He sighed, rolling his eyes.

Because I want to know who your brother is
, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. ‘I suppose I
could
use a lift.’

‘You just want to ride in my red sports car,’ he teased, pretending to look offended.

‘Well, it
is
pretty hot.’

‘You know, I could charge for the ride,’ he drawled playfully. He rubbed his hand across his chest thoughtfully, drawing my eyes to where his heart beat and to his hard muscles rippling beneath the thin shirt. I swallowed hard.

‘What’s the price?’

‘How much you got?’

I made my eyes round and feigned distress, summoning as much of Penelope as I could. Her sweetness, her innocence. ‘Maybe you can do me a deal?’

He considered it, the corners of his lips twitching. ‘A kiss?’

I licked my lips involuntarily. ‘You have yourself a deal.’ And I willingly paid the price. My fingers curled in his t-shirt, holding him close as his mouth twisted against mine. Truth be told, I would have paid a much higher price than a mere kiss.

A thought that terrified me.

He waited for me to lock up, then flung his arm around my shoulders, walking me across the parking lot. His was the only car there, and he’d parked under the looming, artificial light of a street lamp. ‘Abbie. I wanted to say sorry.’

‘For?’

‘For not letting you meet my brother,’ he explained. ‘I’ve been pretty selfish really. But I know when you meet him…’

‘What?’ I urged, swallowing hard.

‘Well, he has this way,’ Marcus paused. ‘He has this way of always getting what he wants. And you’re
my
little pixie girl. Not his.’

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. ‘And I’m sorry about your painting.’

‘Me too.’

‘I know how much the parsonage meant to you.’

I stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Huh?’

I stammered over the words. ‘How do you know how much the parsonage means?’

‘Because I’ve seen how much time and effort you’ve put into it, because…’ He paused, a thoughtful look on his face.

I watched him carefully, noting the slight movement of a muscle in his cheek. ‘Because?’

‘Because I just know.’ He shrugged.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

He remembered. I knew it, even though he didn’t. He remembered our life together, however brief it may have been. I was sure. It was hidden in his eyes, just below the surface of his subconscious.

Reaching up, I touched his face, his jaw, felt the warm blood that pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin. I wanted to tell him everything, explain everything, and explain
why
he liked me so much when it went against everything that made sense.