Silently, she nodded.
He let the silence stretch. Then, ‘I was wrong to snap at you, the other day, when you wanted to talk. Can we talk now? Or,’ he ran his knuckle down her bare forearm, ‘we could do as I suggest and just put the bad stuff behind us. Why don’t we go out on a few dates and see how things go? Then we could progress to dinner at my place – well, Auntie Chrissy’s place.’
Darcie knew where Chrissy lived, of course, in a row of little houses that had somehow missed being knocked down as the town centre grew, and still nestled behind the shops on the High Street. For a moment she allowed herself to think about secreting herself there with Jake for a cosy evening and her heart leapt. But then she caught hold of it and pressed it firmly back into its proper place. Ross. A ‘huge responsibility’, Jake had called him. Better believe it, buddy. ‘Rather you than me.’ OK. She could understand why he’d feel like that. But she wasn’t sure what kind of a dating future she could have with someone who did.
She got up, retrieved the bottle of Bailey’s from the kitchen, refilled both drinks and clinked glasses with him before she answered. ‘Today’s been a such bad day, Jake.’ She didn’t feel up to any further explanations, so she began to talk about Welbourne Workshops, instead.
His smile died, but he didn’t argue.
Chapter Fourteen
Ross was excluded from school until he’d been back to the police station, two weeks later, once again in the company of Darcie and Mrs Sharman.
There, to his huge relief, the policeman told him that they weren’t going to take the matter any further. ‘Your bacon was saved by you already being in the act of coming clean with your head teacher when we arrived on the scene. His statement, and that of your mate, Benjamin Bloor, corroborate your story. You’ve been a bit innocent and gullible, and we’re all hoping you’ll be a bit more cautious another time.’
Through a hot rush of dizziness, Ross heard Darcie sort of sigh and gulp beside him. ‘So – is that it?’ he managed.
The policeman smiled. ‘Just watch yourself, mate. It’s too easy to be drawn into situations. Hopefully you’ve learned from this.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Ross, politely, because all he wanted was to be allowed to get out of the scary clinical confines of the police station and never go back. Except he just had one last question … ‘And what about Casey?’
The policeman closed the file in front of him. ‘We’d like a witness statement from you about that and I plan to phone you in a few days to arrange to visit you at home.’ He glanced at Darcie. ‘And if you could be present, as Ross’s responsible adult?’
Darcie hesitated. ‘Does Ross have to?’
‘I want to,’ stuck in Ross, indignantly.
‘We can’t insist,’ the policeman answered Darcie. ‘But Ross is in a good position to help us.’
Ross butted in before Darcie could come up with a reason for him not to make a statement. ‘Will Casey know?’
‘At some point, yes, she will be made aware of all the evidence against her.’
Delight licked around his bruised heart. ‘Wicked. I’ll do it.’
Beside him, Darcie sighed again.
The next day, Mr Able allowed him back into school, after a serious talk with him and Darcie, which Ross hated, because what had Darce done wrong? He was sentenced to a whole month of ‘school service’ – picking up litter or running errands for teachers during breaks.
‘You’re a bright boy, Ross,’ said Mr Able, over the steeple of his fingers. ‘You ought to have applied your intelligence to the Casey situation, not gone into it with your eyes shut. I don’t expect any repetition, all right? I don’t want to have to exclude you permanently.’ He gave him a long, pensive stare.
‘Am I allowed to ask what happened to Casey?’ Darcie ventured, as Mr Able got to his feet to signify the end of the interview. They knew from Amy that Casey hadn’t been back to school since the police took her away.
‘Miss McClare was excluded, just as Ross was. I’m afraid I couldn’t comment further.’
Darcie spent the next two weeks feeling flat and uncreative. Knowing better than to work on anything sumptuous and large – which would cost her a lot of money if cocked up – she spent her time making coasters and dinner mats with various designs and transfers on the underside. She probably wouldn’t have to make anything else so dreary for months and, hopefully, soon she’d feel her usual self. The police had been and taken Ross’s witness statement about young Casey’s crafty activities, so that was one thing off her mind, anyway. And, by the grin on Ross’s face, giving evidence against Casey had satisfied a deep need for revenge.
On Friday lunchtime, she was momentarily cheered when Kelly burst in through the door, face pink and beaming, waving a paper bag stuffed with goodies from the baguette shop. ‘Tarrah! I have lunch! I have great news. Which would you like first?’
Hugging her in the pure pleasure of seeing a happy face, Darcie decided, ‘The good news, obviously. No, wait until I’ve made the coffee. Then you can splurge.’ She boiled the kettle whilst Kelly split the paper bags as a makeshift tablecloth and laid out the crusty baguettes and flapjacks on a stool, filling the workshop with the smell of onion and cucumber.
Darcie dragged up another stool for the coffee mugs, and settled onto an old dining chair. ‘Go on then. Tell.’
Kelly let her eyes half-close in bliss. ‘I’ve met a really nice man, called Simon. We were on the train together when I’d been to a work thing in London. We talked for the entire journey. He’s single, just come back to England after working in Australia for a while. He’s living in Middledip and commuting, because he doesn’t mind working in London but doesn’t want to live there. Once we realised we were getting out at the same station he asked me out to dinner, last night. And we had such a good time and he’s so lovely! We’re going to the cinema tonight. He’s a Star Wars fan and they’re showing one of the episodes in 3D, then we’re going for pizza. He’s the original “tall, dark and handsome” and we can just talk for hours …’
Darcie, finishing her baguette, waited politely to be offered a flapjack. But Kelly, baguette dangling from her fingers, was still eulogising, eyes sparkling, mouth one continuous smile. Of course, Darcie was thrilled for Kelly that she was soaring high on a cloud of instant-attraction joy. But, within the warm fuzzies for her friend, she was conscious of a chilly yesterday’s-rice-pudding feeling for herself. Kelly had plans for tonight, tomorrow night and most of the weekend. Any ideas Darcie might have had of unloading her deflated feelings on Kelly over an Indian takeaway and a couple of bottles of wine looked to be redundant.
But, come on, this was Kelly, her best friend, dizzily pouring out Simon’s life history with a touchingly possessive pride. She put down her coffee cup and flung her arms around her friend once more. ‘He sounds gorgeous, Kelly. I hope you have a fantastic time.’
A great thing about Auntie Chrissy’s house was its location. Jake could reach any town-centre pub or club in minutes. To distract himself from the knowledge that Darcie had gone all distant on him he decided to call in at The Golden Lion for a few drinks. His old buddies from school still hung out there and a few beers and a bit of mindless banter might disperse the lead he felt he carried in his belly.
He’d reached the end of Pebble Lane where it joined the main road, with all its traffic noise and babble, when a figure seemed to hurtle towards him through the air, landing with a thud and a cry on the pavement at his feet. He leaped back, looking up to see a noisy line of teenagers straggling up the iron staircase to a club, gazing down at the figure on the floor. And three lads racing down the steps, fists clenched, their intentions towards the prone figure written on their faces.
The figure groaned and began to lever himself up, blood spattering on the paving.
‘Ross?’ The instant Jake recognised Darcie’s little brother, he acted, grabbing a bamboo cane from the flower tub outside the last house in the lane and stepping across Ross to face his p
ursuers.
The three halted. Jake flexed the cane, unspeaking.
One lad lurched forward. ‘Get out of the way.’
Behind him, Jake heard Ross gasp. He waited until the lad came within range and released one end of the bamboo. It hissed through the air and swiped the lad’s ear with a vicious slap, making him rear back on a howl of pain.
Jake smiled at the others. ‘I think it’s time you guys disappeared.’ He swished the cane at their groins a couple of times and the lads jumped back. ‘Bye bye,’ he said.
Bookwork, bookwork, Darcie hated it. But Ross was out mending fences with Ben and Jonny and Kelly was no doubt snuggling down with her lovely man and a box of popcorn, so she planted herself on the sofa and booted up her laptop, preparing to have yet another go at her spreadsheets, and trying not to think how much she would rather have been watching Star Wars in 3D with a lovely man.
She had a reasonable run at inputting the first quarter’s invoices, but then her mood sunk lower than ever when she realised she’d left the second quarter’s invoices at the workshop. It was with relief that she heard the back door opening and she stretched, heart lightening. Ross was home. Maybe they could share a cup of hot chocolate and watch South Park … she paused to listen. Ross talking to someone. Well, OK, Ben and Jonny would probably be up for South Park, too. She could put some twisty fries in the oven and— But Ross was sounding funny, muffled, as if he’d just had a filling.
‘Hanks a yot,’ she heard him say. ‘Yeah, I’ll be ohay now, I’ll be fine, honest. Hanks again. No, I’ll tell her.’
She jumped up and zipped into the kitchen just in time to see Ross preparing to show Jake out. And then he turned round.
Darcie clapped her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh Ross, what happened?’ She started forward, turning him under the light to examine his face. His lip was split and swollen, blood had run down and made his chin rusty. The area around one eye was bright red and puffed up. ‘Look at the state of you! Sit down, let’s get you cleaned up and get some ice on it.’
Ross let himself be urged to a kitchen chair.
‘I gock pushed downtairs,’ he mumbled.
Darcie halted, her hands full of wet kitchen roll. ‘What? Who?’
He shrugged. ‘Some glokes. I landed on my face. Yake came ayong and saw them off before they could do any more.’
Darcie began to dab yards of kitchen paper to his bloody face.
‘Yake Gelfast. Gelly’s gother,’ Ross clarified, as if Darcie couldn’t see Jake closing the back door again with himself on the inside of it.
‘I think he ought to go to A and E,’ he said, softly.
Darcie sighed, seeing the thick split in her brother’s lip beading with fresh blood. ‘You’re right.’
Though thanking Jake profusely, Darcie refused his offer to accompany them to casualty, because it was so much easier forgetting how she felt about him when not with him, then spent a couple of hours in Bettsbrough General waiting for someone to stitch Ross up. He endured, stoically, first the long wait with soggy kitchen roll and ice pressed against his lips, the melted ice mixing with the blood and dripping pinkly onto the tiled waiting area, and then the actual needlework.
During the wait, Darcie interrogated him, but he couldn’t shed much light on what had happened.
Ross, Ben and Jonny had been at the top of the steps up to Benny’s, the under-18s nightclub over a parade of shops in the town centre, someone jostled Ross and then shoved violently – and he’d been airborne until he bounced off the handrail and hit the ground in Pebble Lane. ‘They ran down after me, but Jake was in the street and he got this bamboo stick from somewhere and let one of them have it. So they legged it.’ Ross’s speech was becoming clearer as the ice brought the swelling down.
Darcie went cold. If Ross had received the full dose of what was intended for him, it could’ve been serious.
Ross pulled his bloody, almost-melted icepack from his lips and inspected the gory mess. ‘Unlucky for them that Jake was there. Man, he fights dirty, doesn’t he? Dead wicked.’
Darcie felt her heart somersault. She’d hardly had time yet to examine the knowledge that Jake had saved Ross. ‘I do seem to remember that capability coming in useful, sometimes,’ she admitted.
Ross grinned and then winced and hurriedly reapplied his icepack. ‘He wanted to call the ambulance but I was OK, really.’
Darcie buried her face in her hands.
Apart from the horrible period of his parents’ accident, when the coppers had been kind and supportive, Ross’d had nothing to do with the police. Now it was beginning to be a habit. He faced two more police officers over his kitchen table. At least this time he was clearly the victim, unless the police suspected him of throwing himself down the stairs ahead of those guys and so Darcie was less tense. Last time, she’d been stretched so tight he’d expected her to go ‘ping’.
He had nothing against the police for telling him off about those phones because it was obvious that they could have put him in far deeper shit. But they were pretty boring. Same questions over and over, then they’d write it all down and read it to him, and he had to sign in all kinds of places on the sheets of paper, and Darcie had to sign in too, and it was all just too dull. And it reminded him of the black cloud that had hung over him, making him feel sick and squirmy inside.
But he’d agreed to see them because it was obvious Casey set the sneaky bastard stair pushers on him. And he wanted to pay Casey back.
A lot of his waking thoughts were concerned with paying Casey back. He’d lie awake, planning.
He. Would. Pay. Casey. Back.
Summer sun shone low through the open door of Darcie’s unit, glinting through the light-catchers she was making. Light-catchers made affordable little reminders of a nice day out for customers to hang in their windows, marginally less boring to produce than coasters.
The one she was working on was circular, a clear background with an orange-and-yellow sun surrounded by bevelled, pointy rays. The next would be a crescent moon with a star, to encourage customers to buy the pair. She was chuffed with the way the affordable stuff was making money but would be so glad to get onto her next commission, an intricate panel destined to become part of a window between two rooms in a posh apartment in Peterborough.
On the bench beside the light-catchers sat a small pair of cufflinks, dark grey glass, faceted painstakingly by hand on the grinding wheel and polished, each one etched with a J, on sterling silver mounts she’d ordered as part of a trial she was going to run into glass jewellery, which should be both affordable and desirable. And more fun to make than coasters.
She scooped up the cufflinks and went home to get changed.
From the bedroom window Jake caught sight of her coming up Pebble Lane, placing each foot deliberately, like a stalking cat. She wore a denim jacket against the cool of the day and the breeze blew her hair all over one shoulder.
She paused in front of the house.
He waited for her knock. He waited so long that he wondered if she’d somehow crept away without him seeing. He forgot to breathe, and his chest began to hurt.
But finally … there it was, a little tattoo. He took in some air. Be cool, be cool, count to five before answering. One. Two. Thr— That would do.
The door opened. Jake looked surprised to see her, but smiled his slow smile in welcome. She’d say her piece, she thought, and be on her way.
But he turned and walked away from the open door, saying over his shoulder as if assuming that she’d intended to go in, ‘I’m just making a drink. At the spa they used to make this fantastic lemon tea and I had a sudden yen for it.’
If she wanted to say anything, it seemed she’d have to follow. Stepping into the cool, white-painted simplicity of the little house, she closed the door behind her.
‘Go into the lounge, won’t be a minute,’ he called back from the kitchen.
She tensed as she heard his footsteps returning. Any moment now she’d be able to begin
her speech.
Then he was there with two large, clear glass cups, like bowls with handles, full of amber liquid that reflected the light from the window. ‘Sit down.’ He passed her one of the cups; the contents smelt delicious, lemon and cinnamon, sharp and steamy.
Auntie Chrissy’s lounge had no chairs, just one of those huge corner sofas with a chaise end, so Darcie had no option but to sit on the same piece of furniture as Jake. She blew across the surface of her drink, sipped, swallowed. Her throat smouldered. ‘The fantastic kind of lemon tea with whisky in it?’
One corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Schnapps.’
‘Seems like a Jake drink.’ She opened her mouth again to begin her speech. ‘What I’ve come for—’
‘How’s Ross?’
She wished he’d let her get this vote of thanks over with! ‘OK really, but he looks beautiful. His lips are swollen, he’s got two stitches in one, and a black eye.’
Jake grimaced. ‘The police gave me a call to arrange to take a statement confirming Ross’s story. They don’t seem to think they’ll get anywhere, though, with neither of us being able to identify the guys.’
She sipped her drink as he recounted the conversation. The lemon was sharp on her tongue, the after-kick of the schnapps rolled down her throat. The cup was heavy and had even begun to make her hands sweat a little; she had to put it down to wriggle out of her jacket as the alcohol flushed warmth through her.
Then, finally, she got the opportunity to launch. ‘I came to thank you for helping Ross. I’m incredibly grateful, it hardly bears thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t waded in.’ She closed her eyes for a moment as if in silent agony at the idea, but really because his gaze had sent a swoosh down her spine, and she felt he could too easily read it. She cleared her throat. ‘It was no small thing you did, pitching in when the odds were against you.’
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