The Sound

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘Well, sure that would be possible,’ the older man says and I do a double take. He looks really familiar and then I see it. He looks like Jesse. The same warm brown eyes and thick dark hair. He must be Mr Miller – Jesse’s father. ‘Where’s your bike?’ he asks Brodie.

  ‘It’s parked around the corner,’ I say, pointing vaguely. ‘But I think we have races to get to, don’t we?’ I remind Brodie. ‘I thought you had a date with a spoon.’

  Her mouth falls open and then she grabs my hand. ‘Oh, yes. Oh no, quick, let’s go!’

  ‘We’ll come back later,’ I say to the man as I’m dragged away from the stall.

  ‘Sure,’ he calls after us.

  I glance back over my shoulder. Jesse is down on his knees again talking to the little boy who is now pointing at the handlebars. He looks up and holds my gaze, unsmiling. I turn away. I’m not sure whether I should have said something about his note, or about the other night, and now it feels like it might be too late.

  At the beach we catch up with Carrie and Mike, who look relieved to see us. ‘We wondered where you’d got to,’ Carrie says.

  ‘I want to have my bike decorated with fairies,’ Brodie announces but then she sees that the egg and spoon race is about to start and scurries off. Carrie chases after her waving a wooden soup ladle above her head (seems like cheating to me).

  ‘So, you having fun?’ Mike asks, as he bounces Braiden in his arms.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, my mind back on Jesse.

  ‘Tonight should be great,’ he says.

  I look at him questioningly.

  ‘Fireworks,’ he says. ‘The Reeds’ party. The one thing that can be said about the Reeds is that they always put on a great show.’

  I nod. Tonight is definitely something I’m looking forward to.

  24

  Carrie and Mike decide to take the kids back home straight after lunch because they’ve had too much sugar and as Mike puts it, while wrestling the candyfloss stick from Brodie’s sticky grip, ‘They’re about to go into a diabetic coma but not before completely wigging out.’

  I’m glad they’re taking parental responsibility for that one. I help them get Brodie back to the bikes. She’s complaining the whole way that she wants to go and build sandcastles and have another ice cream but as soon as we get close to the bikes she stops complaining and starts yelling and squealing instead. She springs free from my hold and races towards the trailer and I’m thinking to myself that Mike called it correctly on the wigging out when I stop in my tracks. The whole left side of the trailer is painted with a dragon. Above its green and fire-haloed head dances an army of fairies.

  Carrie and Mike are staring too. ‘What the—’ Mike starts.

  ‘It was that boy. The one who was staring at Ren! He did it!’ Brodie jumps around and around. ‘Oh, look at the fairies, they’re so sparkly and the dragon is so scary, ooooh,’ she squeals and points, her face a picture of excitement.

  ‘What boy?’ Mike asks, turning to me.

  ‘Um. They were doing bike decorating – to raise money for something,’ I murmur; the whole time I can’t take my eyes off the bike trailer. He did that. Jesse did it. I’m feeling a mixture of emotions over this. Mostly they end in ‘awww’.

  Mike assesses the trailer. ‘That’s pretty darn good.’

  ‘Oh it’s wonderful,’ Carrie says, parking Braiden into it. ‘We must go and give them some money.’ She gets out her wallet. ‘Ren, could you be a sweetheart and give them this?’ She hands me a twenty dollar bill.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, taking it.

  I walk slowly back through the densely packed street towards Jesse’s stall. When I get there I see Parker standing talking to Jesse’s dad. I come up behind him. I’m not eavesdropping but I’m not not eavesdropping either, if you know what I mean.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s not here,’ Jesse’s dad answers calmly. He’s not an overly tall man and his hunched posture spells tiredness.

  ‘Well, tell him that we’re looking for him,’ Parker says. His tone seems friendly but judging from Mr Miller’s wincing expression and the way he sighs I’m assuming that Parker is not looking for Jesse in order to invite him to the party tonight.

  ‘Son, move along,’ Jesse’s dad says. ‘Jesse’s not here and you’d be best off not coming around causing any more trouble.’

  ‘We’re not causing any trouble, sir, we just want to clear up a few things with him.’

  Mr Miller glances up and sees me then and a warm smile splits his face. He turns away from Parker. ‘Yes, young lady, what can I do for you?’ he asks, seeming relieved for the interruption.

  Parker looks over his shoulder, clocks me and looks surprised.

  ‘Hey, Ren,’ he says, frowning.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, my eyes flicking back to Mr Miller.

  ‘I just wanted to give you this,’ I say, handing over the twenty dollar bill.

  ‘What’s this for?’ Mr Miller asks.

  ‘Oh, um, for the decorating.’ I can feel Parker staring at me and I don’t want to say Jesse’s name but then I just think, what the hell. ‘Jesse painted Brodie’s trailer. Tell him she loved it and thanks.’

  Parker has his eyebrows raised when I look back at him.

  ‘You getting your bike decorated too?’ I ask.

  He frowns at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Is that why you’re here? To get your bike decorated? They do a really great job. Fairies, dragons, you name it.’

  Parker gives me a strange look as though I’m talking a foreign language and then shakes his head at me. ‘No,’ he says, then he turns on his heel and lifts his chin at me. ‘I gotta go. See you later.’

  He strolls off into the crowd and I watch him go. Did Tyler tell him to come and deliver the message? What do they want with Jesse? Do they just want to talk to him or is Tyler planning to get his own back on Jesse? My gut is telling me the answer. I decide I’ll ask Jeremy when I see him and try to find something out. I turn around to say bye to Mr Miller.

  ‘You have a good day now,’ he says. He’s smiling but I can see the stress etched around his eyes. ‘I’ll tell Jesse you said hi.’

  I open my mouth to tell him that I didn’t say any such thing, but he’s giving me this look that seems so hopeful and kind, that I just nod and walk off.

  I spend the next hour sitting by the waterfront, drinking an iced coffee and reading my book about dance culture, but truthfully I don’t manage to read more than a few pages because my mind is distracted by the conversation between Mr Miller and Parker. After another half-hour I decide to give up trying to read and go home, so I wander over to where my bike is chained up at the far end of a bike rack down a quiet side street.

  I strap my bag to the back, unlock the bike and am pulling it free when I notice that the chain has fallen off and is dragging along the road. I kick the stand down and stare. It feels a little like my physics GCSE exam when I was asked to answer a question about gravity and acceleration. I am drawing a blank. And there isn’t even a multiple choice. I think on it for a moment. I have no idea whatsoever what the chain thing does or how to fix it. With a sigh I lock the bike up and walk back to Miller’s stall.

  Mr Miller is there on his own, thank God. I explain my predicament. He smiles at me. ‘I have to stay here and man the stall but I’ll have someone come and fix it,’ he says and pulls out his phone.

  ‘OK, thanks,’ I say and tell him where I’m parked.

  I head back to the bike and sit on the pavement next to it and take out my iPod. I am hoping and simultaneously not hoping that Jesse will come, my heart and my head and my quiver parts can’t coalesce or decide on what they want, so when he does appear, strolling nonchalantly around the corner as though he’s taking a turn down a catwalk, my insides feel like they’re attached to a bungee cord being operated by Eliza the evil puppet master.

  Jesse Miller stops in front of the bike and glances down at me.

  ‘You know,’ he drawls, ‘if
you wanted to see me you didn’t have to go and destroy a perfectly good bike. You could have just called me up and asked me to meet you.’

  My jaw drops open. I blink at him, unable to fashion thoughts into words.

  ‘What?’ I eventually say. ‘You think I did this on purpose?’ I struggle to my feet, indignant, and point at the bike.

  He starts laughing and I feel the colour rising in my cheeks.

  ‘I was just kidding,’ he says. ‘I know you can’t have done this on purpose.’

  I relax slightly.

  He glances at me sideways. ‘For a start I don’t think you even know what this is,’ he says, indicating the chain, ‘let alone how to remove it. Am I right?’

  I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Absolutely.’

  He grins at me. I can’t help smiling back. There’s a moment of silence where we stand looking at each other and it’s as if he’s waiting for something so I say, ‘I’m sorry about the other night. Um, thanks for the note.’

  ‘No worries,’ he answers under his breath.

  ‘And thanks for painting the trailer,’ I add, as he drops to his knees in front of the bike. ‘It was really sweet of you. You made a little girl very happy.’

  He glances up at me. ‘I wouldn’t call you a little girl. You’re a pretty grown-up girl. Almost a woman, in fact.’

  I close my mouth and look away, trying not to let my heart go fuse-balling around my ribcage. God. Why does he have to flirt with everything with a pulse? I clench my fists and take a deep breath, reminding myself that he does it because he knows it has an effect. It’s all a game to him. So, I tell myself, I need to act like he has no effect on me whatsoever. I stare back at him, giving him a variation of the Megan look, and it takes every ounce of willpower in my body to hold his gaze. He doesn’t seem at all fazed by the Megan look. On the contrary, he seems to find it amusing. That usual half-smile is playing on his lips again, as though I provide nothing but endless entertainment. Like I’m the flesh and blood version of his favourite comedy channel.

  ‘I’m glad it was the right one. I was worried for a second,’ he says. It takes me several seconds to realise he’s talking about the bike trailer.

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Your bike was next to it.’

  I watch him as he reattaches the chain to this cog thing.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘you can draw dragons, play guitar and fix bikes. Anything you can’t do?’ I ask, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret it.

  He looks at me over his shoulder. ‘What can I say? I’m good with my hands,’ he answers deadpan, fixing me with this look that tells me in a million graphic ways what else he’s good at doing with his hands.

  I try not to look at his hands but they’re all I can see as he spins the wheel to check the chain.

  ‘Why was Parker looking for you earlier?’ I ask to change the subject.

  His hands still. He catches the spinning wheel and turns slowly to look at me. ‘What?’

  I bite my lip. ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I thought your dad would have said something.’

  His eyes are blazing. He stands up. ‘Parker? He was looking for me? You’re sure?’ he asks. His whole body is coiled tight, tensed. His shoulders are rolled forwards, his expression fierce. I catch a glimpse of the Jesse Miller that beat Tyler Reed up, the Jesse Miller that Sophie warned me about, the Jesse Miller I also saw the other night in the car.

  I nod and take a small step backwards.

  ‘What did he say?’ Jesse growls, stepping towards me.

  ‘He said you weren’t around,’ I stutter.

  He frowns, shakes his head. ‘No, not my dad, what did Parker say?’

  ‘Just that they were looking for you and wanted to clear something up?’

  Jesse grimaces and turns away, back towards the bike, knots of muscle bunching under his T-shirt. His forearms are taut. I want to touch his shoulder, have him turn back to face me, but at the same time something about his body language and the tone of his voice makes me want to stay well out of range.

  ‘Is it about Tyler?’ I ask quietly.

  He turns back towards me. His face is composed now, the cocky half-smile back on his lips. ‘I would guess so,’ he says.

  ‘Maybe they just want to bury the hatchet?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jesse says, dropping to his knees in front of the bike once more, ‘in the back of my skull.’

  I sit down on the pavement beside him and pick up my helmet.

  ‘Why did you hit Tyler Reed?’ I ask.

  Jesse’s working now on some other part of the bike, having pulled a spanner out of his back pocket. He shrugs.

  ‘You put him in the hospital,’ I add, when he doesn’t say anything.

  ‘I wish it had been the morgue,’ Jesse grunts, his mouth tightening in a grimace as he puts pressure on a bolt. ‘If he comes near me again then that’s where he’ll end up.’

  ‘Jesus. What did he do to make you so mad at him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jesse says through gritted teeth. ‘I just like hitting assholes with money who think they own the town and everybody in it.’ The bolt finally comes free and he raises the handlebars a fraction of an inch before tightening it again.

  ‘How very Neanderthal of you,’ I say.

  Jesse shoots me a deadly serious look and points his spanner at me. ‘Shut up or I’ll hit you, throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to my cave.’

  ‘Wow,’ I answer drolly, ‘I totally get what all the girls see in you.’

  He shakes his head but he’s smiling. ‘You know, you could watch me, you might learn a thing or two.’

  ‘Like what?’ I say. ‘How to be incredibly cocky, arrogant and sure of myself?’

  He leans back on his haunches, the spanner dangling in his hand. ‘Did someone eat the thesaurus for breakfast? One adjective there would have sufficed. I like cocky. The way you say it has a nice ring to it.’

  I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Don’t try to take me on with sarcasm. I am the queen of it. I’ve studied it, perfected it. I come from a land where we own sarcasm and the use of it. There is nothing you can teach me about sarcasm.’

  ‘OK,’ he says, grinning up at me, ‘Professor Emeritus Sarcastus. You can own the sarcasm. What I meant was you might learn how to change the chain on a bike, for example.’

  ‘You mean the greasy metal thing that you just fixed for me without me having to touch it thereby rendering your suggestion kind of unnecessary?’

  ‘Yes, that would be the chain,’ he says. ‘But you should learn how to change it nonetheless because one day I might not be around to come to your rescue.’

  I sigh and glance down at the bike. ‘I have to touch it to change it,’ I say.

  He considers me for a beat. ‘No. You can sprinkle magic pixie dust on it if you like and have it float into position all by itself.’

  ‘What did I say about the sarcasm?’ I remind him.

  ‘Come here.’ He jerks his head towards the bike.

  I consider this request. It’s been delivered in a rather caveman way but nonetheless I feel myself being pulled towards him. I make a show of getting up from the sidewalk and walking towards him as slowly as possible. He waits until I kneel down beside him, careful to leave a broad expanse of space between us.

  He leans forward and does something and the chain he’s just fixed comes loose again, flopping to the ground.

  ‘Did you have to do that?’ I ask. ‘You couldn’t have just used gestures and pointed to show me how to fix it?’

  He hands the chain to me. ‘Hold this here,’ he says. I have to inch forwards and we end up with our knees and shoulders touching and I hate the fact that my body starts going into what feels like shock while he seems completely oblivious. ‘Pull it,’ he says, and then his hands close around mine, warm and sure, and I can’t even register what he’s telling me to do because I’m having to concentrate on keeping my heart rate under two hundred beats a minute and my airw
ays open. ‘Right, keep it there,’ he says, his voice close to my ear, ‘and wrap this around the cog. No, not that one. This one.’

  He finally lets go of my hands and we both stand up to admire my handiwork.

  ‘My hands are so dirty,’ I say, staring down at my blackened palms.

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re such a girl.’

  ‘Almost a woman I think you’ll find.’

  ‘I find,’ he answers and I feel his eyes slide the length of my body.

  There’s a silence. We’re standing side by side, both still staring at the bike.

  A strand of hair blows in front of my eyes. My hands are too dirty for me to want to touch my face with them so I try to blow it out of my face. Jesse turns towards me and with the edge of his little finger, the only part of his hands that’s clean, he gently strokes back the stray strand of hair and brushes it behind my ear. I glance up at him and he’s giving me this look that’s completely disarming and one hundred per cent quiver-inducing. His hand hovers for a split second by my cheek and there’s so much electricity running through me I must be short-circuiting whatever country sits directly beneath me on the globe.

  ‘So I have to go,’ I say finally, the words coming out as a stutter. I almost trip backwards, stumbling over my helmet which is lying on the sidewalk.

  He does that smirking smile thing, the look he was just giving me vanishing, making me think I just imagined it.

  I climb on the bike which he is holding steady for me.

  ‘Thanks for helping me with the bike,’ I say.

  ‘No worries,’ he answers. ‘See you around.’ And he gives the bike a gentle push to send me on my way.

  25

  The Reeds’ house is ablaze with lights. The party is taking place on the back lawn which is where the firework display has been set up. Carrie says that the fireworks alone cost more than the state deficit and Mike sighs loudly. It’s already late and getting dark when we arrive.

  Almost immediately we are greeted by Mr Reed. He is on handshake duty, combining them with hearty back slaps for the men and compliments to the ladies. The guy is a pro and I can’t help but watch and admire from a distance as he meets and greets like a seasoned celebrity on a red carpet.