"I'm getting those weird mystery questions again." Jessica was fiddling with her mobile. "How do you turn them off?"
"Here, let me." Amy changed the options, and their fingertips brushed as she handed the phone back.
"It's kind of early," said Jessica. "Where do you want to go?"
"Pub?" Amy liked the atmosphere at the Grey Mare – the seats were big and soft creaky leather, and there was an open fire on winter nights.
"Sure." Jessica fell in step beside her, heading under the swinging horse-head sign. It had glazed eyes and a slack-mouthed expression, and tended to frighten Crooksfield's few tourists away, which only made the interior all the quieter – visitors went for the big chain pubs on the other side of the square instead, all filled with families and big-screen sports.
"Hey, have you got ID?" Jessica paused on the threshold, looking uncertain at the dimly-lit taproom, and Amy remembered – of course, she'd been too young to come in here before she'd left for London.
"They never check here," she said, pushing gently past her friend and heading for one of the padded booths beside the fire. Jessica squeezed in next to her, and the two of them tucked their knees under the table.
"So what do you want?" she asked. Amy started to protest, but Jessica was insistent. "No, I'll start us off. You can pay me back later."
Amy was too confused by that last bit – the way her friend smiled, like a lunar eclipse – to argue any further, and Jessica was at the bar before she knew it.
Amy leaned back into the corner of the booth, and her phone went. She was almost tempted to ignore it – it'd be Steven again, surely – but she couldn't help herself from checking, and there it was. Another of the hateful grey-faced messages.
"haha fat bitch show us ur boobs"
She bit her lip and got rid of it, burying her phone at the bottom of her bag. No more, not tonight.
Tom sat hunched over his laptop and watched Amy's blog like a hunter, waiting to see if he'd get any response. Sometimes she took the bait, responding angrily or tearfully or trying to be funny, but tonight he wasn't getting anything. Maybe she was out.
He did a quick check of the usual sites, but nothing new had been reported. No sightings for months now, not since that weird case over in Peru. Tom had found leaked video of that one, too blurry to make out any details but you could still get the sound on it, the whirring that sounded like it was splitting the sky in half.
He kicked back on the sofa, dangling his feet over the end. Steven still wasn't back, and the house was getting boring. Time to find someone else to annoy.
Terry would be up to something – you couldn't keep him down, he was always carrying on with some girl or getting wasted in the town centre. He could get on Tom's nerves, but not tonight – tonight the freckled git was just what Tom needed to liven things up.
"Alright mate what you up to," he sent.
Terry replied moments later. "Not much, met some fox who got away. You coming out tonight?"
"Maybe where're you at?" Tom shut his laptop down and hunted for his jacket, texting as he went.
"Heading to Kairos later, meet you there?"
Tom kicked his trainers on and headed for the front door. "Alright, tho I’m off to Blackjacks first if you want"
"Sure, better not get started without me," and Terry signed off with a grinning face.
Tom headed down the street. Town was only a few minutes walk away, and he couldn't be arsed waiting on buses. Besides you got cameras on those, whereas you might get missed on the pavements.
Clubs and pubs had CCTV too but it couldn't be helped, and hiding away inside all the time would attract attention. He had to blend in, and crowds were the best way.
It wasn't the government Tom was afraid of, though he'd had friends who were, who worried about their emails and their banking and their national insurance numbers. The government was just people, and people were stupid and disorganised and couldn't keep tabs on anyone.
The problem was you never knew who else might be watching. Out there. Up there. In the dark corners of the sky.
He crossed Hopscotch Bridge and reached the main square. Blackjacks was up in the top corner, light and music spilling onto the cobbles, and a crowd was already gathering inside. Tom headed in and nodded at a couple of familiar faces at the bar – Weird Patrick was out, high-collared coat casting shadows over his face, and so was Lynette, who Tom had got off with a couple of months back. She blanked him, and he wasn't in a mood for one of Patrick's monologues, so Tom got his pint and headed for the other side of the room, waiting for some real people to show up.
Terry was getting fed up. Jenny's gorgeous friend hadn't answered him yet, and the evening didn't feel quite the same colour without her – lights and streets and sounds were washed-out, and the town centre was the colour of cold tea.
"Stop moping," Jenny told him, shaking her thick-curled hair. "Let's get somewhere inside." They'd already tried two pubs, but none of them had life enough for Terry Martin – he needed somewhere with an atmosphere, the kind of scene that might attract a fight or a public screaming match. The best spots were like nitro-glycerine, one nudge away from disaster.
"Tom's going to Blackjacks," he said. The place was tacky in the safest way, but it'd tide them over till the club opened up.
"Alright, whatever." Jenny wrapped her arms around herself. "Just pick a place before I die out here."
Terry pushed though the big glass doors, elbowing his way past the prat leaning against the doorframe. The guy was big and wearing a baseball cap on his shaved head, and looked like he might kick off until Terry went "Oh sorry," in the sincerest tones he could manage. People didn't know how to deal with that – they needed the spark to get themselves worked up. He wasn't drunk enough to be that spark, least not yet.
Tom was looking bored in the back corner, so Terry ignored the stiffs at the bar and headed straight for him with an "Oi oi."
"Alright," Tom went. "Just you two, is it?"
"Charming." Jenny made a face. "Who else were you hoping for, you little shut-in?"
"What about that friend of yours?" Terry was annoyed by the way his heart fizzed at the thought of her.
"So you do fancy her," Jenny laughed. She dangled her phone from one hand. "I'll tell her you said so."
"Leave off." Terry was in no mood and tried to knock the phone out of her hand, but she skipped to a safe distance and waved it tauntingly at him.
"Who you on about?" Tom had perked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the phone-screen.
"Jess-ica." Jenny must've liked saying the name, rolling her tongue on it.
"Eh." Tom sat back down. "She's a bit dull, isn't she?"
"Shut your mouth." Terry rounded on him, surprised how much his blood was up, and found Tom apologising. "Alright mate, didn't mean it."
Terry pulled out his own mobile. "I said I'd tell her where we wound up," he explained, and Jenny started sniggering. Terry glared at her, at both of them. "Better not think of ruining it for me, okay? Got that, yeah?"
Jessica walked carefully across the bar, setting the overflowing glasses down in a puddle of foam. Amy beamed at her, and Jessica smiled back. She could feel the old comfort between them returning, and was starting to hate the town a little less.
"It's kind of quiet in here," she said, sliding into the booth.
Amy wriggled over to make room. "It's normally like that," she said. "I like it, it's peaceful."
Jessica hesitated. Every pub she'd been in lately had been full to bursting, loud and raucous but undeniably alive. This place seemed like it'd had gone out of business and no-one had noticed. Even the barman – old and quiet rather than the chatty students she was used to – had taken a minute to notice she was there.
"Yeah," she said, staying neutral. Amy was already partway through her drink, slurping at the glass then blushing over it – she was nervous, Jessica realised. Why would she be nervous?
"So how long're you back for?" Amy asked, leaning clos
er.
"Don't really know," admitted Jessica. She'd avoided giving it much thought– things down South hadn't gone the way she'd planned, but she couldn't picture herself staying up here, wasting her life in this backwater valley. Wasn't growing up meant to be about leaving your roots behind? She was grown too large for the Northern Country, and it would take a city to hold her.
Amy had clearly picked up a little of her mood, and patted her on the arm. "Still," she took another sip of cider, "it's nice having you back. I mean, really nice. Jenny's been hard to pin down lately, and Tom's not been the same since he started hanging out with that – that w-wanker Terry." She stumbled on the word, and Jessica couldn't help laughing – age hadn't made Amy any less self-conscious.
She frowned inwardly at the name, recognising it.
"So," Amy plonked her glass down, "it makes a difference having someone to talk to who isn't – I mean who doesn't–” she broke off, and Jessica puzzled over it – there was something else about her friend, some element unspoken.
Amy was drinking again, her hand resting on Jessica's forearm as if by accident.
"It's nice to be back," but what Jessica really meant by that was nice to be away – away from that mess, from the tears and the late-night arguments.
"I've – we missed you," Amy gulped, setting her empty glass on the table. She brightened up. "Are you doing anything tomorrow? I'm off work, we could go somewhere."
Jessica flicked through her phone, giving herself time to think. "I've got a job interview," she said, though it was for a shoddy job at that, some part-time promotion thing for an animal charity.
"Maybe after?" Amy poked Jessica's glass with her fingertip. "You've hardly touched yours," she mused.
"I'm making it last." Jessica took a mouthful to prove her point, swilling it around her tongue. The cider was too sharp for her, and had an tang of windfall and wasps to it, of apples not good enough for eating.
Amy was hiding half her face behind that pretty red hair, the colour Jessica longed for, She leaned over and brushed it behind her friend's ears, bringing her into the light properly. Amy gasped and blushed again, and Jessica felt something twist in the base of her stomach and pulled back. Things suddenly felt awkward between them, and there was a sticky consistency to the air.
Jessica checked her phone to hide her face, and found a message from that boy with the freckles, Terry. He must be the one Amy disliked, but she couldn't see why – he'd been all manners with her earlier.
Reaching for the cider-glass, she downed it in a few mouthfuls, feeling the blood rush to her head.
"Some of our friends are at Blackjacks," she said. "Want to go over?"
"Okay, let's," said Amy, and her eyes said the opposite. Jessica ignored them and got up, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Come on, it'll be fun," she told Amy, taking her by the hand and pulling her up. "This place is dead anyway."
Jessica could feel herself waking up as they entered the other pub, and it wasn't just the evening air. This place still wasn't much, but at least it had people – people drinking, laughing, connecting with each other rather than petrifying in the corners.
She saw Terry over in the corner, and that quiet boy from the party the other night, and with them – oh no – was Jenny, dancing and dazzling. Jessica thought of running out again, but the boy with freckles had already seen her and given the most enormous smile.
"Oh good evening," he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. "You alright?"
Jessica could feel Amy hiding behind her, and felt a little guilty.
"Nice to see you again," she said and offered a handshake, but Terry ignored it and crushed her to him. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, but he pulled away grinning. "Pleasure's mutual, yeah?"
"Hello Terry," Amy said from behind her, in a voice as flat as a run-over pigeon.
"Gang's all here." He beckoned them through the crowd, and Jessica followed, torn – the grinning spectre of Jenny was before her, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the others kept her occupied?
The five of them collided in a chorus of greetings and hellos, and Amy skirted away from Terry and positioned herself between the other girls, shooting Jessica a glance as if to say 'look what I'm doing for you'.
"What'll you two have?" Terry tugged a leather wallet out of his jeans, flapping it around. Jessica picked a name at random, and he was striding away in seconds, leaving her trapped with the other three.
"So what do you think, Jessica?" and Jenny nodded her head at the freckled boy's back, laughing.
Jessica giggled and knew it sounded fake – she wanted to say something cutting but could never ever find the words, so here she was stuck being pleasant – and could come up with nothing better than "We just met." She hated this persona that seemed to steal over her, the pretty-dolly-best-friend with the fixed smile, but alcohol always made it worse, and it felt like the real Jessica was locked somewhere deep within.
She looked back to Amy, who looked miserable. It wasn't the same with her, or with Jack – but that was how friends and family worked, wasn't it? Jessica wanted to cry, and knew it must be the cider.
"Oh don't give me that." Jenny nudged her. "Terry likes you enough, doesn't he Tom?"
"Yep." The other boy nodded to emphasise his point.
Terry reappeared at the worst moment, handing Jessica a glass with a flourish. "Thanks," she told him, and found herself smiling politely again. His grin was real, though, and the message of his eyes was obvious.
She tried to turn back to the others, to keep them in conversation, but Jenny had dived on Amy and started chattering to her. Jessica was defenceless.
"Your accent," Terry was saying, sloshing a pint in his other hand. "It's not like the others round here, yeah? Reminds me of home."
"I picked it up when I was down there," Jessica admitted, downing half of her drink in a couple of gulps. She wasn't even sure what it was, but it tasted of acid.
"It's nice." Terry shuffled closer to her. "Proper talking, not like all the country types. I got mine from my family – all of them're from London except my Aunt who ran up here, and she and her daughter are proper crazy."
"Do they live here then?" Jessica wasn't sure if she wanted to be here – the boy's smile was cheeky and his freckles were cute, but he was a bit too confident, too pushy. Maybe it was the drink.
"Nah, over in Highburn." Terry paused to take a massive swallow of his beer, and foam was flecked across his chin when he lowered it again. "You ever been there? Dead little village, makes this place seem like New York."
"This place totally is." Jessica found herself giggling again, and the acid-drink was running through her like a live wire. "Didn't you see the statue outside? Liberty's little brother."
"No kidding." Terry ditched his beer. "I was thinking you were more her likeness, yeah?"
"She's French." Jessica drank to avoid talking, and it made more words spill out of her. "I'm not French." She wobbled, finding the floor turned slippery.
"You alright?" Terry tried to catch her, but the little bit of Jessica that wasn't drowned pulled her back.
"I need to go to the bathroom," she mumbled, and saw a stressed-looking Amy break away from the others, clutching an empty glass as if it were her dearest possession. "Want me to come with you?" Amy said, and Jessica was too uncertain on her feet to refuse.
The pub toilet was tiled and brightly-lit, making everyone's reflections look like police snapshots, but at least it was deserted. Jessica leaned heavily on the sinks and turned the taps on, splashing cold water over her face. Her feet started to go from under her again – what had been in that last drink, vodka? – and then Amy's arm was around her waist, holding her up.
"Careful there," Amy panted, and Jessica could feel her friend shaking, hardly steadier than Jessica herself. The two were leaning on each other like tentpoles, and she worried what would happen if either of them tried to move.
Jessica reached out car
efully and turned the taps off, trying to straighten her hair in the mirror.
"Are you having a good time?" Amy asked her. "It looked like Terry was bothering you."
"He's okay." Jessica opened her bag and fumbled inside, trying to repair her makeup.
"We don't have to stay," Amy continued, and Jessica could detect a note of pleading. "I mean, not if you don't want to."
Jessica's lipstick slipped, and a red smear appeared across her cheek. She swore at her reflection and tried to rub it off with her fingers, but Amy had already swooped in, dabbing at Jessica's cheek in practised movements.
"Thank you," Jessica said lamely, putting her face back together. Amy beamed and nearly fell over, hanging onto Jessica's shoulders for support. "It's no trouble," she said.
Jessica tried to step away from the sinks and forgot Amy was still attached to her, and they both stumbled, half-fell, caught each other and giggled. Maybe they'd merge. One person with two heads and too many arms and giant hair, like Siamese twins.
She found her feet and pulled back, standing by herself. Amy was staring at her.
"You shouldn't–” she babbled, "I mean, you can do better than Terry, you shouldn't let him–”
"He doesn't seem that bad." Jessica didn't know if she thought that or if she just felt like arguing.
"He's awful," Amy said, leaning forward for emphasis, and Jessica had to catch her by the shoulders before she fell over. "Um, thanks." The red-haired girl leaned on her, giggling. "I mean, he's just this idiot who hangs out with Tom, and you're so – you're really pretty."
"Oh shut up." Jessica tried to push her away, but Amy clung on like a limpet. "No, no, I mean it. You're lovely and you deserve someone who–” she gulped, "someone–”
Jessica's head was swimming and she tried to push and pulled instead, and she and Amy bumped heads. "Ow," "Ouch," she couldn't tell which voice was which, and then the world turned warm and soft and wet. Her mouth was open and there was something rolling on her tongue and there were hands here and hands down there, and lips on lips and skin on skin and –
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