‘Why?’ snapped Tara, reaching into her bag. There was a deodorant spray in there. She could spray it in his eyes, perhaps. ‘How do you even know me?’
The man ran a hand over his thick dark hair, which was greasy at the roots.
‘I saw you talking to Leo at the pool,’ he said, with a pleading sort of expression. ‘He won’t talk to me . . . but I thought you might.’
Alarm leapt in her throat again. She remembered the figure she’d seen earlier in the rain. ‘Have you been following me?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and she gasped at his honesty. Then he added hurriedly, ‘I was trying to pluck up courage to talk to Leo again but then I saw you and noticed your bag and . . . thought you might be able to help.’
‘Help with what?’ said Tara stiffly, pulling the bag across her front, like a shield.
‘I only wanted to ask if you’ve heard from her, that’s all!’ His shoulders sagged. ‘I’ve asked all her friends, but no one seems to be able to tell me anything.’
‘What’s to tell?’ said Tara warily, but her hand was already moving away from the deodorant. There was nothing threatening about him now she’d got over the shock, not really.
He glanced around. ‘Look, I know you have no reason to trust me and you don’t know me, but can I get you a coffee or something? Just so we can talk?’
Tara regarded him. For all she knew, he could be some kind of rapist or axe murderer. But she didn’t have enough money left to buy anything to eat. And she was curious to know why he was worried about Melodie. Her curiosity – along with hunger and thirst – won over reticence and she nodded hesitantly.
‘All right then,’ she said. ‘But I haven’t got very long.’
There was a café across the road called the Blue Cuckoo. The walls were hung with mirrors of all shapes and sizes and wooden painted birds hung on strings from the ceiling. Folk music played quietly in the background and the air was rich with coffee. The man bought two large doughnuts without asking her and brought over a glass of juice, which Tara had requested. Her mouth watered at the thought of the doughnut but she watched his every move as he handled her drink, in case he tried to slip something into it. She’d read about that too.
His hands trembled as he lifted his own espresso. He didn’t look like a man who needed caffeine. He practically hummed with nervous energy. His eyes met with Tara’s.
‘I’m Will,’ he said, searching her face. ‘Mel’s boyfriend.’
Tara took a bite of the doughnut to avoid having to answer. She chewed it and then swallowed before taking a sip of the orange juice. Her energy levels started to rise again.
‘Aren’t you a bit old for her?’ she said.
Will looked affronted. ‘I’m only twenty,’ he said.
‘Yeah, and she’s fifteen,’ said Tara, wishing she didn’t sound so much like her mum.
‘Age is an artificial construct,’ said Will haughtily. ‘It means nothing when you’re in love. Why does everyone think this is such a big deal?’
‘Whatever,’ said Tara. ‘Look, what do you want?’
He lowered his eyes and fiddled with the small cup in front of him with long slender fingers.
‘I just want to know that she’s okay, that’s all,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried calling her, but it doesn’t ring. I must have sent twenty emails but there’s no reply.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘Something’s not right. I haven’t been able to sleep. And anyway, look what I found yesterday.’
Will reached into his bag and put down a small leather purse on the table. It was bright turquoise in colour with a felt owl stitched on the front. A sparkly M charm on a chain was attached to the zip.
‘It’s her purse,’ said Will with a triumphant air. ‘It was underneath a load of stuff in my room. My ma found it.’ He had the grace to look a little sheepish at this admission.
‘She’s got bank cards and her student travelcard in there,’ he continued. ‘Why would she go to Brighton without those?’
That was odd, Tara had to privately admit. She thought about the bad feeling she’d had before and tried to shrug it away. None of this was her problem.
‘Well . . . what do you think’s happened to her?’ she said, despite herself.
‘I don’t know,’ said Will, shaking his head. ‘I just don’t buy that she’s gone to live with her dad. She almost never sees him. To suddenly go and set up home in the rock-star palace now? Well, it doesn’t add up.’
Will seemed to read the question in Tara’s face.
‘You know who her dad is, don’t you?’
‘No,’ said Tara. ‘I don’t really even know her.’ In fact, she was starting to wish she’d never even heard of Melodie Stone.
Will’s expression sagged a little. ‘Oh. I was hoping you did.’ He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. ‘Her dad’s Adam Stone.’ Tara made a puzzled face. ‘Adam Stone from The Tin Gods?’ he said.
‘Oh . . .’ Tara’s eyes widened.
Everyone knew The Tin Gods. They were part of the whole Britpop thing in the early nineties. Tara’s mum danced with embarrassing abandon if their music ever came on at parties. Their biggest hit, ‘Best Days of Our Lives’, was still played on the telly all the time. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘She doesn’t see him very often,’ said Will balefully. ‘He’s got a new family and lives in some mansion in Brighton. He’s reinvented himself as a food and wine buff and he’s developed a couple of apps to do with restaurants. He’s properly minted.’
‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ said Tara.
Will’s face hardened. ‘Hmm,’ he grunted grumpily. ‘Thought at one point he might be able to help me out, but he’s obviously forgotten what being a struggling young musician is like.’
Ah . . . thought Tara. Seemed Will had reasons for disliking Adam Stone that had nothing to do with Melodie. Will had such a pouty sulk on his face now that Tara almost wanted to laugh.
‘Like that, is it?’ she said, draining the last of her juice.
Will widened his big brown eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I might not like the man, but I still don’t believe Mel would go and live with him.’ He paused. ‘God!’ He ran a hand over his beard. ‘I’ve been there to mop up her tears when he’s rejected her before. I don’t buy that suddenly he’s the loving father.’
Tara sighed. ‘Look, none of this has anything to do with me. I saw you talking to Karis the other day at school. What does she say?’
‘She doesn’t know anything. And that Jada is all huffy about it, like Mel’s gone away just to upset them.’
‘Been to the police?’ Tara said, knowing it sounded lame.
Will raised an eyebrow, rather impressively. ‘And say what? My underage girlfriend isn’t answering my calls?’
Tara made a face. He made it sound really sleazy, put like that.
‘Well, I don’t see what I can do,’ she said. Her earlier exertions were catching up with her. She felt tired and wanted to go home.
Will sat forward, his expression earnest. ‘Look, you seem like a nice girl . . .’ he began.
Patronise me a bit more, why don’t you? thought Tara.
‘Will you just do one thing for me?’ he said. ‘Then I’ll leave you alone once and for all. If you’ll just take the purse to Mel’s house.’ He reached into the leather satchel and produced a piece of paper. An address was written in flamboyant, curly handwriting. ‘Say you found the purse under the bed or something at your house. There’s a note from me in there. A message.’
Tara hesitated. ‘Why don’t you take it yourself?’ she said.
Will took on a hunted, resentful look. ‘Because of Faith’s bloke, Ross. He threatened me the last time I went over there. Said if I didn’t stop hanging around, he’d . . . well, it wasn’t very nice, what he said. And I’ve been over there twice already. Like I said, this has only just turned up.’
‘Post it then,’ said Tara in exasperation.
‘I don’t trust them not to look through it and fin
d my note, if it comes by post,’ said Will in an annoyingly patient tone, as though he were speaking to someone very young or very stupid. ‘They won’t do that if you deliver it.’
‘Who’s Faith?’ said Tara.
‘Mel’s aunt,’ said Will. ‘Her ma died when she was a baby and Faith had always lived with them, so she became Mel’s guardian. Adam didn’t want her.’
For the first time ever Tara felt a stab of sympathy for Melodie Stone.
‘Give it here,’ she said.
Will passed the purse across the table with an attractive, wide grin. Tara scooped the purse into her bag so she only touched it for a second, remembering the events of the other day. The memory brought a stab of alarm again.
‘I don’t know why I’m doing this,’ she said grumpily. ‘I don’t even like the girl.’ Saying these words to Melodie’s biggest fan gave her a thrill of spiteful pleasure.
Will’s face tightened. ‘I know she can be high maintenance, but she hasn’t had it easy. Faith . . . well, she can be difficult. Her and Mel fight like cat and dog. And Ross is a right creep. Melodie can’t stand him.’ He paused. ‘Look, if you’ll just do this one thing for me, I’d be so grateful.’ His soft eyes were all misty now. Tara hoped fervently that he wouldn’t start crying.
She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I said okay, didn’t I?’ she said.
Will’s face relaxed into a smile and Tara could see why some girls might find him fanciable, what with the puppy-dog eyes and the white teeth, which he flashed at her now.
‘That’s fantastic,’ he said. ‘You’re a real star. Here.’ He pulled out a business card from the front of his satchel. ‘If you could drop me a quick text when you’ve done it.’
Tara took the business card and piece of paper wearily, and glanced at the address. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘So where is this anyway? I’m not trekking miles to her house.’
‘It’s not too far,’ he said hurriedly. ‘It overlooks the river. You know where the old iron bridge is? The fancy one? It’s right by there.’
Tara did know, unfortunately. It was where she had last seen Melodie.
‘Well,’ said Tara, ‘thanks for the drink and the doughnut. I have to go now.’
She turned away, slipping his business card into her pocket.
CHAPTER 6
ANGEL
‘You went swimming?’ Mum appeared to find Tara’s explanation for her afternoon out baffling, despite the wet bikini and towel coiled snail-like in the plastic bag in her hand. What with the stringy damp hair and the flushed cheeks, it ought to be proof enough, Tara thought.
‘Why are you so surprised?’ she said grumpily, decanting the wet things into the washing machine, her nose wrinkling at the sharp chlorine smell. ‘I’m not some couch potato who never does anything.’
Her mother was vigorously mixing vegetables and chicken in the wok. She brushed a strand of her hair, as inky black as Tara’s, but now kept that way by the hairdresser.
‘Well,’ said her mother, ‘it’s not that I’m surprised . . . Okay, I am surprised. It’s just because you didn’t mention it. But I think it’s great. You used to be a right little fish when you were little.’
Tara involuntarily glanced at a photo on the bookcase. It showed her at ten, all fresh-faced and beaming as she held up a medal from a swimming gala. ‘Yeah, guess I was,’ she said absent-mindedly. It was all such a long time ago.
‘So who did you go with?’ said Mum, her voice glass-bright.
Tara sighed as she filled a glass of water from the tap. Her parents were obsessed with her making friends since they’d moved here. They couldn’t seem to understand that their constant questions about school and who she sat next to and what ‘the other girls’ were like only served to make the feeling of having failed ten times worse.
‘I went on my own, Mum,’ said Tara wearily and walked towards the doorway.
‘Tabs?’
She turned back. Mum was holding a wooden spoon in the air like she was conducting an orchestra with it. Her hair was even wilder than usual from the steamy kitchen air. Tara felt a rush of love, despite her irritation.
‘What?’ she said softly.
‘You deserve better than Jay,’ she said. ‘You’ll look back and wonder what you saw in the little creep one day. Don’t sell yourself short. Any boy should thank his lucky stars to have someone like you.’
Tara blinked, surprised. Mum obviously knew that Jay had been on her mind a lot. But in fact, Jay Burns hadn’t entered her thoughts for hours now.
‘Yeah,’ she said with a smile, ‘too right.’
Later, Mum had gone off to her monthly book group meeting and Dad was working late again. Tara curled up on the big chair with her laptop. Beck was having one of his ridiculously long showers. Mum always said he was way worse than any girl with his ‘ablutions’. When he came out it took hours for the steam and aftershave smell to melt away.
Tara was looking at Google images of The Tin Gods, particularly Adam Stone. Most of the images were old, showing the bass guitarist in his early twenties, when he’d been thin and moody-looking, with a mop of fair curls. A recent image from a fund-raising gig for the charity Water Aid showed a portly, balding man with a ruddy face, and a glamorous, bony woman with a frosty smile on his arm. He had exactly the same shape eyes as Melodie.
Tara was almost disappointed by the realisation that Will had been right about Melodie’s dad. She’d half hoped this had been a misguided fantasy. That way, it would be easier to ignore his obvious worries. For a moment she imagined what it must feel like to lose your mum when you were a baby and to know your dad didn’t want you. A pang of sadness tugged her heart. Then she remembered how horrible Melodie was. Having bad things happen to you was no excuse for treating people like dirt. Tara had experienced bad things too, after all.
She sat back, the laptop balancing on the arm of the chair, and stared into the middle distance. It was odd that Melodie would leave her purse behind, though. But if something had happened, wouldn’t it have been reported by now?
Tara was still deep in thought when Beck came into the room, a big towel wrapped round his waist, steam wafting around him, and his hair hedgehogged into spikes.
‘Ah, crap,’ he said and slapped his hand against the table. ‘Left my phone at work, didn’t I?’
‘No, you didn’t,’ said Tara, distractedly. ‘It’s slipped down behind your bed. One of Sara’s earrings is there too.’ Sara was Beck’s current girlfriend. The picture was as clear as if it had appeared on their new HDTV. And then it was gone.
Tara twiddled a strand of hair around her finger in a black spiral, debating whether she really was going to do what she’d promised Will. It took her a few seconds to register the change in the room. There was a weird stillness, but something unspoken charged the air. She looked up, her stomach swooping as she clocked the expression on her brother’s face. He was staring at her, a wary half-smile on his lips.
He hurried out of the room. Tara heard him going into his bedroom and the scrape of the bed being shifted against the wooden floorboards.
Oh no, she thought. Stupid, stupid Tara. Why did I have to open my mouth?
Beck came back into the room holding his iPhone. He had a glass drop earring in the other hand. He looked down at both items with a frown.
‘Look,’ Tara said, ‘ I —’
She had been about to make up an excuse but couldn’t think of why she would be looking down the side of her big brother’s bed. Beck sat down heavily on the sofa opposite her, his muscled shoulders still covered in drops of water, his face serious for once.
‘It’s still happening, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘The whole spooky finding-stuff trick?’
Tara kept her eyes cast down. Tears were rising dangerously inside her. She nodded quickly, once, not trusting herself to speak.
‘Tar?’ Her brother’s voice was low and gentle. ‘Look at me, okay?’
She dragged her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes wer
e now glittering and wet.
‘It’s okay,’ said Beck gently. ‘It’ll be our little secret, yeah? No need for the olds to know, is there?’ There was a long pause. ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘I know it was rough on you, what happened back there, but it was really bad for Mum and Dad too.’
‘I know that,’ said Tara thickly, swallowing hard.
‘But do you know all of it, though?’ said Beck. ‘How bad it got? About how they only just avoided criminal charges?’
Tara sucked in her breath. She shook her head, speechless for a moment.
Beck’s expression softened. ‘They wanted it kept quiet. I only found out by accident,’ he said gently. ‘Anyway, Dad managed to talk the police out of it. The boy’s mum . . . well, she would have had you hanged, drawn and quartered. If it was up to her, we’d probably all be banged up. Not to mention how the boy’s dad kicked off. It was really embarrassing for the police.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ snapped Tara. She grabbed one of the cushions and squashed it against her damp face. She said something that was lost in the satin fabric.
‘What?’ said Beck. ‘I can’t hear you, because you have a cushion stuck to your face.’
Tara flopped back in the seat, the cushion in her lap. ‘I said, I can’t help it. It’s not like I chose to be a weirdo. I’m not even a weirdo who gets it right.’
‘Yeah,’ said Beck with a smile. ‘But you’re our weirdo, eh?’
Tara shot her brother a disgusted look and then lobbed the cushion, which he caught with one hand.
‘All I’m saying is let’s keep this under the radar, yeah?’ He paused. ‘Oh and cheers. Sara was really upset about that earring.’
Tara nodded. Her brother got up, wafting Lynx. But when he reached the door he turned back, his face serious again.
‘It’s only phones and stuff, though?’ he said.
Tara breathed slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth as he spoke.
There was a pause. ‘Tar?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, avoiding his eye. ‘Only phones and stuff.’
She went through to her bedroom and closed the door, before gently turning the key in the lock. For a moment she lay her forehead against the smooth wood, hearing Beck whistling in his room. No doubt his thoughts were already about Sara’s gratitude later or whether Arsenal would get through to the next round of the Cup. How lucky he was. He had no idea what it was like being her.
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