by Sharon Jones
She turned to run but he grabbed her arm before she could get away. ‘Poppy.’ His voice was quiet, sympathetic. ‘Why don’t we go and get a drink and talk?’
‘If you’re not going to tell me the truth, then there’s nothing to talk about.’
Poppy snatched her arm out of Jonathan’s grip and made a dash for it. She stumbled between tents, fighting back the panic rising in her chest. Thoughts and feelings were flooding her skull like someone had opened a dam. If Jonathan was telling the truth, then how did Kane know so much about her? If he wasn’t telling the truth, then why was her stepfather lying to her? It was too much.
She took a deep breath and tried to get a grip. She had to do something. Stop thinking. She needed distraction, now!
The scent of fried food carried on the breeze.
That was it.
She followed the smell of chips all the way to the warm glow of the burger van.
‘What can I get you?’ the guy behind the counter asked. He was about a hundred years old, bald, and definitely not Tariq.
‘Er – I—’
‘Hey.’
Poppy felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see Tariq. His hair had been mussed with wax, and it stuck out at odd angles. He wore a sleeveless black T-shirt that showed off the tattooed band circling his nicely formed bicep, which bulged because of the weight of the gym bag slung over his shoulder.
He smiled, and Poppy felt like a ridiculous teenybopper faced with her boy-band idol.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his wild eyebrows scrunched together in concern. ‘I was just coming to look for you, thought you might need your mind taking off – stuff. But I didn’t know whether that guy was gonna stay the night.’
Ah. She forced herself to say: ‘Michael’s just a friend.’ After all, it was the truth.
Tariq’s smile widened. ‘Won’t be a sec.’ He disappeared up the metal steps into the van, exchanged a few words with the hulk who was on serving duty, and reappeared without the bag. ‘Come on. Let’s go and check out the stalls. I’ll buy you an aubergine burger or something.’
The two of them wandered through the market that had sprung up some time that afternoon. There was a trend for hanging fairy lights and Moroccan lanterns from the awnings. The soft light from the coloured glass and the warmth of the evening made Poppy feel as if she’d somehow travelled to a distant land, and after half an hour or so, the thought of Beth’s lifeless body was receding.
Tariq darted between the stalls, never standing in one place for too long.
‘What d’you reckon?’ he asked, pulling on a red and blue jester’s hat.
‘Kind of suits you, actually.’
‘We need to find one for you.’
‘We really don’t.’
‘Got it!’ He spun around and in his hands he held a sparkly crown. He grinned and placed it on her head.
‘Tariq!’ she protested.
‘A crown for the prettiest girl at the fair.’ He leaned down and his lips brushed lightly against hers before he turned, dumped his own hat and paid the stallholder for hers.
Her breath caught. In her head there was so much noise that it sounded like a freight train was thundering through her brain. But she knew what she wanted to do.
As soon as Tariq turned back to her, she reached up a hand and slid it around his neck. His skin felt warm. And he smelled good, which surprised her. After he’d been working in the burger van all day she expected him to smell of chip fat. But no. He smelled of bergamot, jasmine and something else warm and inviting.
His arms looped around her waist. Warm breath tickled her ear as he leaned in. ‘Let’s go somewhere quieter.’
He grabbed her hand and led her away from the campfires and fairy lights. The lake was the obvious place to go. Quiet. Romantic. And, er...hello? Dangerous? She was relieved when he led her in the opposite direction, down the track that led back onto the lane that counted as the main road in these parts.
For a second she hesitated. Was she really going to do this – snog some guy she’d just met when she was in love with somebody else? Yes, she told herself, that was exactly what she was going to do. Michael has a girlfriend. It was unfair to both of them for her to sit around moping over him. This was OK. This was what people did when they were single: they had fun and occasionally kissed gorgeous strangers at Pagan festivals.
Away from the fairy lights, the night was growing dark. Poppy looked up and saw the dim ghostly glow of the Milky Way: distant suns glinting away with nearer, brighter stars. To the north, Draco the dragon swooped across the sky. And one of those glinting tiny dots was the Cat’s Eye nebula – a dying star emitting its last pulses of hot energy. At least when it died it would give birth to new stars. Maybe even new worlds. What purpose had Beth’s death served?
Tariq pulled her off the track into the shadow of the fir trees and, before she could do or say anything, he kissed her.
Hands cupped her cheeks, fingers tickled behind her ears and down the sides of her neck, and the crown he’d bought her toppled from her head.
His body seemed to be radiating heat. And she wanted that warmth. She wanted him to carry on kissing her because it was nice, so much nicer than all those fumbled nothings at school discos. Her heart pounded in her chest. But it was good – she felt alive, not dead.
Death, Poppy. Your last card was Death.
She broke from his lips and laid her head against his chest. Images spun in her head like water being dragged down a plughole: Beth’s hands blue with cold; Michael’s face before he’d stormed off and left her; the way the light had glimmered above her on the surface of Lake Windermere as she’d sunk, down, down…down.
Tariq’s arms enclosed her.
‘Are you thinking about that girl?’ he asked, softly.
She nodded.
‘I’m not doing a very good job of distracting you, am I?
‘That’s OK.’
Tariq’s hand slipped down her arm. He took her hand and led her back in the direction of the festival, stopping only to retrieve her crown from the grass. He placed it back on her head and smiled. ‘So – where do you come from? I don’t know anything about you.’
‘Windermere. You?’
‘Blackpool.’
Poppy snorted. ‘Blackpool?!’
‘Yeah – what’s wrong with that?’ he asked with mock haughtiness.
‘I just didn’t think anyone actually lived there. Thought it was all cheap B&B’s and tacky fairgrounds. Although it explains the funny hat obsession.’
‘It’s not where I want to be, believe me, but at the moment it’s where I need to be.’
‘Why?’
Tariq glanced at her as if deciding what to tell her. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘We don’t seem to be doing anything else at the moment.’
He stopped abruptly, pulled her to him and whispered, ‘We could change that.’
Poppy laughed, put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. ‘No way. Not when it’s just getting interesting.’
‘Believe me, it’s not interesting.’
She smiled at him until he rolled his eyes and carried on walking.
‘Usual story: Dad did a runner, left us with no money so I had to get a job.’ He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. His gaze dropped to the ground. ‘I told myself it was just short term, y’know? But the problem is, you start to get ravelled up in things. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to undo it all.’
What a strange thing to say. She was about to ask him what he meant when the wind picked up, bringing with it the sound of drums and bodhrans beating a strangely militaristic rhythm against the backdrop of rustling leaves. Whistles joined in just as the breeze switched direction. Suddenly it sounded like the music was coming from behind th
em. She glanced over her shoulder, half convinced that she’d see a ghostly fairy army marching towards them. Of course there was nothing there…except…
She could just make out the curve of a shoulder and the glint of moonlight in long copper hair. It was a woman, standing in the shadow of the fir trees, watching them.
Poppy’s feet stopped moving. She pulled her hand out of Tariq’s.
‘Poppy?’
‘There’s someone there,’ she whispered.
Tariq glanced around. ‘What? I don’t see anyone.’
‘She’s right…’ Poppy pointed to the fir tree, but there was nothing but shadows where seconds ago there had been flesh and bone. She hadn’t imagined it. There had definitely been someone there.
‘Where are you going?’ Tariq shouted after her.
Poppy stumbled over the uneven ground to the place where she had seen the figure. There was a small gap between the swooping branches of the fir tree and a dense thorny bush. She pushed aside a branch and eased past, ignoring the sharp twigs that slashed at her arms.
Seconds later, Tariq burst through the bush, gasping and cursing. He stopped beside her.
‘If this was some elaborate plan to get me somewhere—’
‘—Shhh!’ Poppy hushed him.
The darkness was thick with the smells of rotting bark and the fresh green sap of the fir trees. The breeze that had carried the sounds of fiddles and drums switched directions once again and they were left listening to nothing but the rustle of the air through leaves and the sound of their own breathing. Nothing moved.
‘What exactly are we doing here?’ Tariq whispered.
A sudden gust ripped through the fir trees, with the roar of waves crashing against rocks. Poppy’s hair whipped into her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and for a second she thought she heard a girl’s laughter.
The wind died just as suddenly as it had risen. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and looked from shadow to shadow. Nothing.
‘I thought – I thought I saw...’
‘Come on.’ Tariq grabbed her hand and pulled her back the way they had come. He pressed his back against the bush to create a safe passage and helped her out onto the moonlit track.
Poppy turned on her heels, looking for any sign of the girl. But they were very much alone.
Tariq looked at her bemused. ‘So what exactly was that about?’
It was a very good question and he was looking at her like she’d lost it. ‘I thought I saw someone. Sorry.’ Her cheeks filled with heat.
Tariq frowned and glanced back towards the bush. ‘Who did you think it was?’
She ran a hand through her hair and realised she’d lost her crown. ‘No one. Sorry – I guess this whole thing has me more freaked out than I thought.’
Tariq pulled her closer. ‘Hey, it’s completely understandable.’ He hugged an arm around her while his other hand brushed down her back in long slow strokes, like she was a cat that needed taming.
‘I don’t understand how someone could kill her. How can people do that? Take a life?’
His chest rose and fell in a sigh. Eventually he said, ‘Poppy, what did you tell the police?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Before, when you went running off to tell the police about something.’
‘Just that the girl Beth was looking for was called Maya.’
‘You didn’t tell them you got it from me, did you?’
She looked up and his arms loosened their hold on her.
‘No. Why?’
He shifted. ‘Nothing. Don’t worry.’
She pulled away.
‘It’s nothing, Poppy. It’s just I bought a consignment of oil that I suspect may have fallen off the back of a lorry. The last thing I need is the cops snooping around the van.’
‘I see.’
‘I don’t normally do that kind of thing...but there was a guy and the offer was too good to refuse. Are you scandalised?’
She smiled, relieved. ‘No. Well, I am, but…it’s fine.’
‘But this thing with the dead girl? Leave it alone, Poppy.’ His voice was serious.
‘What?’
‘Don’t get involved.’
‘But I am involved.’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t ask too many questions. It’ll only bring trouble.’ For a second, she thought there was fear in his dark eyes. Catching her look of concern, he smiled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil the mood. I was supposed to be taking your mind off what happened, not bringing it all back.’ Tariq took her hand and pulled her towards the festival ground. ‘So come on, you were telling me about yourself before you dragged me into the woods to ravish me.’
‘You wish,’ Poppy snorted.
Tariq grinned.
‘Actually, I think you were telling me about yourself. What were you doing before your dad left?’
‘I was at Manchester uni.’
‘That’s weird. That’s where I want to go. What were you doing?’
‘Second year Law.’
She stopped and stared at him. So much for thinking that he wasn’t into books. ‘Tariq – that’s like – you must have got at least three As!’
‘It’s no big deal.’
‘You’ve got to go back.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He nudged her arm. ‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Astrophysics.’ She saw Tariq’s lip curl. ‘Hey! What’s funny about that?’
‘Nothing. I don’t normally go for science nerds.’
‘Huh!’
‘Hey, I know what it is, you just wanna get close to that guy off the TV, don’t you?’
‘No!’
‘Oh come on! Physicist and rock star. Even if his band was crap, that’s a pretty intoxicating mixture.’
‘I want to go there because it’s a good department.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do,’ she said, smiling despite herself.
‘Things, can only get better,’ Tariq warbled quietly.
‘Hey!’ She pushed him off balance.
He giggled and caught hold of her. He smiled down at her and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. ‘That means I’m three years older than you. Does it bother you?’
For a moment she thought about going along with it. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. But after how great he’d been, it felt worse than lying. ‘Umm, four actually. I’m just about to start A levels.’
Tariq bit his lip and wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Right. Poppy, you are sixteen, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
Tariq wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her so close that she could feel everything from the buckle of his belt pressing into her stomach to the ripple of abs against her chest and…oh my God…another part of him that was taut and ready for action. She felt jittery, light-headed and as if she wouldn’t ever be able to breathe again.
‘Just checking,’ Tariq muttered before kissing her and stealing every last molecule of oxygen from her lungs.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was too hot. No matter how he lay, or how many windows he had open, it was way too hot to sleep. But, if he were honest, it wasn’t just the heat keeping him awake.
Michael rolled onto his back and stared at the dimpled ceiling. At the side of the bed, Dawkins was snoring.
‘Glad you can sleep,’ he muttered. Maybe he could have slept too, if his anger hadn’t morphed into guilt.
He shouldn’t have shouted at Poppy. She was his best friend and she’d had a crap day. But just recently not a day went by when she didn’t do something that got under his skin. She’d gone from being the girl who was up for anything, to the girl who was intent on finding any re
ason to be mad at him. And it hurt.
For a while he thought it was because she was jealous of the amount of time he spent with Julia, but he wasn’t convinced by that. But he’d done his best to keep up their usual routines even though it wasn’t easy when the two of them couldn’t be in the same room for more than ten seconds at a time without sniping at each other.
He screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his hands over his face, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.
And now there was the girl in the lake. Poppy wouldn’t let it go. The girl was dead, but Poppy was acting like she could still save her. He’d seen it in her eyes – determination and desperation in equal measures. It was almost as if she felt guilty that she had survived nearly drowning and this girl hadn’t. Some weird form of survivor’s guilt? Maybe she was trying to save herself. Whatever the reason, she’d keep on about it until she got into trouble.
He sat up, flicked on his bedside lamp and grabbed his laptop.
Beside him, Dawkins grunted and shifted until his head was out of the light and firmly in the shadow of the bed.
He opened up Google and his fingers hovered over the keyboard. What the hell was he supposed to be looking for? He only knew the dead girl’s first name, although the police had said they were releasing her name to the press. He typed ‘Beth’, ‘dead’ and ‘Scariswater’ into the search box, pressed return and up it came – an article from one of the local papers about the death of Beth Trimble.
OK, so the girl she was looking for was Maya, according to Burger Boy. He tried to ignore the scratchy feeling in his spine when he thought about the guy taking an interest in his best friend, and typed in ‘Beth Trimble’, ‘missing person’ and ‘Maya.’
There were a couple of dead ends. Then he clicked on a link that took him to a missing persons’ site. The photograph that slowly appeared in the top right-hand corner took his breath away.
The girl was the spitting image of Poppy.
Same strawberry blonde hair, same smattering of freckles across her cheeks, only the nose was slightly more pointed, more sculpted than Poppy’s button nose. The eyes weren’t quite as big as Poppy’s, and they were blue rather than the golden coppery colour that he knew so well. The girl’s lips weren’t quite as full either. He’d always thought Poppy had nice lips. They were never cracked or pale like Julia’s sometimes were, but always red and...