beats per minute

by Alex Mae

  ‘What?’ the girl raised her voice over the thrumming of banjos behind her. A voice had begun to wail plaintively.

  ‘Can you turn that down?’ Raegan felt as though the drums were beating against her skull.

  The girl merely stared her down for a moment. Then the door slammed in Raegan’s face.

  Things were going from bad to worse. Staring at the beige painted surface, Raegan willed herself to be calm and try again. This time she congratulated herself on the decency of her knock. The sound was crisp; professional. It said: ‘please answer the door.’ It did not say: ‘open the fricking door or I will kick it in’, which is what she, in truth, was leaning towards.

  After a brief pause, the door slid open.

  She barely even looked at Raegan this time. Instead, voice dripping with boredom, she remarked, ‘oh, you again,’ turned her back, and went inside. Fortunately, she left the door open behind her.

  Raegan followed, fuming. The girl didn’t even look up. She flopped on the bed with her legs in the air. Every now and then she reached into a bag of strawberry laces or turned the page of the glossy magazine in front of her.

  The music was quieter, at least. This didn’t help Raegan’s mood much. The heat, combined with Bree’s penchant for green velvet, made her feel as if she was trapped inside some dense jungle. She was tired. She was also beginning to sweat. And there in the middle of the jungle was a little wild-cat, sunning herself.

  She marched over to the stereo and shut it off.

  ‘Hey!’ The girl looked up, annoyed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Give me a break,’ Raegan said irritably. ‘I don’t have time. Where’s Bree?’

  The girl pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘Who wants to know?’

  Raegan stood her ground. ‘Who are you to be asking?’

  She raised an eyebrow imperiously. ‘I’m Adriana. Bree’s girlfriend.’

  If Raegan was surprised, she did not betray this by the merest flicker. ‘Right.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Adriana shot back, aggressively. ‘Her girlfriend. Get it?’

  ‘I could not care less,’ Raegan snapped. ‘I’m hardly here for a booty call.’

  Adriana rolled her eyes, her southern American accent deepening. ‘Oh, please. Y’all did not just come up in here and say ‘booty’. You can’t pull that off.’

  Snickering, Adriana rolled back onto her stomach. Her minute crop top rode up to expose even more tanned, toned flesh, but she was totally unselfconscious. As if to emphasise that fact, she looked over her shoulder, smiling unpleasantly.

  ‘You can stand there staring at my behind all you want, honey. That’s the closest you’re going to get to either of us.’

  Raegan’s mouth dropped open; the nerve of this girl had her brains scrambling and her fists clenching. She needed to get out of here.

  ‘Just tell Bree I was looking for her, okay?’ As she said it, she knew it was pointless; and so she slammed the door loudly enough not to hear Adriana’s reply – if she even bothered to make one.

  Chapter Twelve: Missing

  It was ten o’clock and the moon was bright over the green islands of the British Isles. Lights were flickering all over as, in the cities, nightclubs and bars came to life and restaurants spilled happy, full customers out onto the bustling pavements, while in the suburbs, men, women and children began to wind down after a hard day of work and play.

  In St Jude’s, there was barely a glow coming from any window. Even the street-lamps seemed tired, their haze a muted, faded amber, casting a soft eye over the unusually littered pavements. The odd bit of bunting still waved in the wind. It had been a busy day for the little town; a day for celebration, the one day each year in which the village came together to feast and toast their patron saint.

  By this time, there were only three St Jude’s residences in which the lamps still burned – and none more brightly than at 12 Briar Walk. The glare beaming from the windows of the cottage was as white-hot as the rage felt by its chief resident. Tristan Fettes was in a very bad mood. The evening had not gone to plan; he had been looking forward to a nice, long bath - scented, of course; he always tipped a good measure of a perfume mixed specially by Penhaligon’s of London into the water – and then an early night. Instead he was sat at his desk, old troubles nagging at him. Life was very tiring at present. With a delicate sigh, he picked up the telephone.

  ***

  The iron door clanged back with such force that it nearly came off the hinges. The emptiness of the workshop echoed with the sound of a raised, male voice, but Raegan barely noticed, furious eyes searching for her friend like a missile seeking its target. Once she spotted him, such was her self-preoccupation that Raegan failed to even notice Jasper was on the telephone until the shriek of indignation was halfway out of her mouth.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe-‘

  Fortunately, but rather unnervingly, Jasper appeared to be in a state of high agitation himself. Yelling fiercely into the receiver, his neck and face stained with ugly blotches of maroon, Raegan’s arrival did not impact on his consciousness.

  She stopped abruptly. To stand here, not saying anything, made it feel like she was spying on him; but then how could she interrupt what was clearly a private conversation?

  The vitriol in Jasper’s voice cut through her hesitation like a knife. ‘The Trace? What bloody business is that of yours- you interfering, selfish old-?’

  The words went completely over Raegan’s head; all she could hear was the emotion in his voice. This was a side of Jasper she had never seen before.

  Leave now, before he noticed. With the thought came a kind of relief, like a large door marked ‘Exit’ materialising in front of her. Her body jerked into action. The clumsy squeak of her trainers against the cold stone coincided with Jasper’s next interjection.

  ‘I won’t do it!’

  The words cut off too quickly and suddenly Raegan could feel his eyes fall on her. An image of his shocked face formed in her mind even before she turned to face him.

  The reality was worse. He gawped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The colour drained from his face, though the red streaks remained, as if his skin had been slashed viciously. The telephone dangled uselessly by his side.

  Raegan felt terrible. She also felt out of her depth. Jasper had become such a close friend, so quickly. He was always ready to hear her moans, offering shy, thoughtful advice over a cuppa – provided she kept a certain distance. He didn’t like to talk about himself. Her barrelling in here had removed this option with all the sensitivity of a bulldozer.

  She held her hands out in front of her like an apology; but he met this with a violent shake of the head. The urgency of the movement stopped her in her tracks.

  When she was motionless, he seemed to gather himself. He spoke into the telephone once more. ‘I have to go.’ There was no trace of the former passion in his voice. Raegan wondered if she had imagined it. ‘We will talk again soon. G’bye.’

  The table between them was like a barrier. Jasper stared fixedly at the wooden surface.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Raegan said nervously, after a minute passed and Jasper still hadn’t looked up. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in.’

  When he replied his voice was scratchy. ‘How long were you... standing there?’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything, promise! I came to tell you something and well, I was a bit upset, so I came in without knocking. I saw you were busy straight away-’ slight fib ‘-so I was just leaving when you, ah, saw me.’

  He didn’t say anything. Raegan pulled on a strand of her hair anxiously, wondering what to do. She didn’t want to keep talking if it was annoying him - but then she didn’t want to leave if he was upset.

  Her heart won. ‘Are you okay?’

  This time the response was swift. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Another wrong move. Clearly she had upset him and her hanging around was just upsetting him more.
>
  She had only gone a few steps when he spoke again.

  ‘A brew would be nice, though.’

  Surprised, she turned back to see that Jasper had come out from behind the table and was now able to meet her eyes. He was even smiling.

  ‘Well?’ He said gruffly, hands in pockets. ‘You know where everything is.’

  She couldn’t help the silly grin that spread across her face; but she didn’t want to ruin it by talking. Lips firmly pressed together, she raced over to the kettle.

  ** *

  In a kitchen on Ramsey Island, another kettle whistled. The scalding water was ready to be poured onto the casserole dishes waiting in the sink.

  Con and Bridey O’Roarke had enjoyed a late supper. Two mugs of cocoa cooled as Con leant on the counter, his massive form hunched around the telephone receiver he held to his ear; Bridey, meanwhile, was poring over some dusty photo albums. A stack of loose photos sat on the table beside; it was unclear whether these were to be inserted or had been discarded. Her attention was focused on the images within the leaves, in which two faces seemed to crop up more than others. She flipped past several of a handsome masculine visage to rest, finally, on a young girl with a freckled, open face and long, red hair. She could have been no more than six or seven years old, and her gap-toothed grin beamed out of the photo as brightly as a shooting star. At that moment, Con’s phone call finished, and he came to stand behind his wife. She caressed the girl’s face, and looked up at Con, and then toward the phone; but he shook his head. They turned back to the album.

  ***

  There is a lot to be said for filling awkward silences with the sounds of industry. As always, Raegan sorted the cups and teabags (two for Jasper, one for her), and Jasper was in charge of distributing the biscuits. Together, they foraged for plates, spoons, and sugar. They settled into their regular positions; she, curled up on the battered armchair, while he sprawled across the bench. And though the steaming tea was poured and drunk largely in silence, by the time they were staring at the dregs, the atmosphere was less frosty. Jasper had even recovered enough to ask why Raegan had turned up in the first place.

  Nudging the plate of biscuits over to him, Raegan slurped at the remnants of her tea. ‘It was nothing. Stupid, really.’

  ‘But it upset you.’ Jasper peered at her owlishly over his glasses. She’d always thought that he and Tristan were nothing alike, but at that particular moment he reminded her very much of his father.

  So she began to recount the events of the evening; the locking-in lesson, the tension between Declan and Sam, and finally her surprise introduction to Bree’s girlfriend. But when she was sitting there, in the tatty workshop, working her way through a packet of Hob Nobs with her friend, it didn’t sound so bad. In fact, her encounter with Adriana seemed pretty funny.

  Jasper agreed. More than agreed – by the time Raegan had reached the part of the story where Adriana accused her of ogling, he was in fits.

  ‘She thought you were checking her out?’ He spluttered.

  ‘Naturally.’ Raegan giggled too, happy to see that he was feeling better. She swatted at him. ‘You’re awful! She was such a cow.’

  ‘Well,’ Jasper clutched his stomach briefly. ‘I won’t argue with you, seeing as she’s taken Bree off the market. No matter how pretty she is.’

  ‘I didn’t say she was pretty,’ Raegan shot back.

  ‘Bet she is, though.’

  ‘I guess,’ Raegan admitted grumpily. ‘She is kind of hot. If you like that sort of thing. Still. Looks aren’t everything.’

  ‘Bloody are.’

  ‘Oi!’ Raegan protested. ‘Since when are you the lord of shallow?’

  ‘Not talking about me. Anyway, it’s easy for good-looking people to say ‘looks aren’t everything’. Try being an ugly mug and see how you feel then.’

  Raegan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t miss the unspoken ‘like me’ that hung in the air. ‘Any girl would be lucky to have you, Jas.’

  ‘Oh, give it a rest. Another cup?’ Jasper got up quickly, grabbing their mugs.

  ‘I’m serious!’ Raegan didn’t know why she was pushing the subject. Maybe it was because of what happened earlier. Or maybe it was simply because she believed it.

  ‘Jasper. You’re a catch. A girl would be mad to pass you up.’

  ‘I must know a lot of mad women, then,’ he muttered, plonking teabags in their mugs slightly viciously.

  ‘No, just not-‘ Raegan struggled with how to put it. ‘Just- you haven’t met the right one. Or they haven’t realised that you’re interested. I bet you’ve never told... anyone.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘Bree’ – but she stopped herself just in time.

  His response startled her. ‘What, like you have?’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on, Gunner.’ She didn’t like his superior tone. ‘Here you are, telling me to act on my feelings, when you do anything but!’

  ‘No,’ she managed, stung.

  ‘“No”, she says,’ he scoffed, mimicking her in an unflatteringly whiny fashion. ‘If I’m Lord Shallow, you’re Lady Wimp.’

  ‘Wimp!’ Raegan sat up in her chair. ‘I am not a wimp.’

  ‘Are too!’

  ‘Am not!’

  Her last ‘not’ was voiced with such force that Jasper blinked in surprise. He was only teasing.

  Now she was on her feet, stuffing her jumper in her bag, eyes searching wildly for some imagined, dropped possession.

  ‘Oh, Ray-Gunny Gunster,’ he said soothingly, ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that we’re both a bit behind with the whole confessing of feelings thing. I mean, you haven’t told Sam how much you like him, or Declan how much you don’t like him...’

  ‘We weren’t talking about me!’ She bit out, pulling the right arm of her jacket on. ‘For once! Believe me, I’m familiar with my own crapness. And you know what, I was enjoying not thinking about it!’

  Her left arm was caught, now, and she struggled fruitlessly with it for a while. She reached across her chest to yank at the jacket from the inside. ‘In fact, I could use-‘

  She froze mid-sentence. Her hand fluttered aimlessly against her breastbone.

  ‘You could use?’ Jasper prompted her.

  She had the weirdest expression on her face.

  ‘Raegan?’

  ‘But- where- what?’ her voice was gasping, panicked, as she ran her hands over herself. ‘It’s-‘

  Muttering under her breath, she ran towards her bag. After digging through the contents for a while, she gave up, and, with a violent movement, upended the rucksack on the floor.

  ‘Raegan!’

  The bemusement in his voice brought her back to earth. She stopped scrabbling, but instead of getting back up, she dropped her face into her hands.

  After a moment of scratching his head in confusion, Jasper thought he should say something – but she beat him to it.

  ‘My necklace,’ her voice came from inside her hands in a muffled groan. ‘It’s gone.’

  ***

  At that very moment, across the sea from Bridey and Con, Timothy Vallence lit another candle. He had slept very little since Marie’s disappearance. Sitting on the stool behind the counter of his shop, he glanced at the lonely pile of blankets and pillows on the floor. When it got too much, he would lay down for a short time. But he would not go home. To go home and not find her there would be unthinkable. He could keep himself busy here. The candle flames danced across the rows of twinkling jewels strewn across the glass surface; the jades, emeralds, and turquoise precious and semi-precious stones Marie had so adored. He would examine them carefully for any imperfections, and then rearrange them within the velvet casing. He took a quick look at the clock, fearful of falling behind: he could not break his routine. But the hands only read 10:22. Sometimes life was so slow that he felt he was living inside a stopped clock; as if time had broken along with his heart. The aching chasm of the night stretched before him.
/>   ***

  It took a good while – a whole pot of tea, in fact - for Jasper to understand why Raegan was so upset.

  ‘It must mean a lot to you,’ he said finally. ‘But how could anyone have stolen it? I mean, literally; don’t you always wear it?’

  ‘I took it off for class,’ Raegan said absently, twisting a lock of hair round and round her finger. ‘I put it in my backpack.’

  ‘You’re sure you put it there?’ Jasper probed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then it probably fell out somewhere! We’ll just retrace your steps and see if we can find it.’ Jasper got to his feet. He didn’t really fancy going out into the cold night and scratching about in the dark, but he was a good friend: he would do it. Anything to shake Raegan out of her present mood. He almost preferred the tears to this weird, detached state.

  ‘No good.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I would have noticed.’

  He didn’t like to point out that she hadn’t noticed the necklace was missing from around her neck until very recently – despite the fact that she had taken it off herself.

  For the first time in nearly an hour, she looked directly at him.

  ‘Jasper.’ The words were quietly steady. ‘I know how it sounds. But you don’t know what the last month has been like. There have been other… incidents.’

  ‘Incidents.’

  ‘Mostly before we were friends. I didn’t make a big deal out of it to anyone – played it down, like I did last week, when I got locked in the storage cupboard by ‘the wind’. I thought I was probably imagining it.’

  Jasper met her eyes without reproach. ‘Better late than never. ’

  She cast her mind back. It had been a while but it wasn’t hard to remember the uneasiness that used to live in the pit of her stomach; the uncontrollable paranoia she felt when walking through the Unit grounds on her own; the vulnerability her evenings in the Armoury had helped her forget. She shuddered.

  ‘It was small things, at first. Like someone was having a laugh. But after a while… I started to feel like it wasn’t just a joke. That someone was really out to get me.’ She faltered. ‘I know it sounds crazy!’ She whipped her head up, sure he would be laughing at her. But there was only sympathy in his face. ‘It happened, Jasper. I’m not making it up.’